


A Little Flame

by OfPearlsAndSunsets



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Baby Fluff, Creepy Snow, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gale Hawthorne Is A War Criminal, Hijacked Peeta Mellark, Hurt/Comfort, Katniss is a bit ooc but thats fine, Katniss radiates BIG mama bear energy, POV Katniss Everdeen, Post-Book/Movie 2: Catching Fire, Science That Doesn't Really Exist, Willow Mellark - Freeform, like extremely complicated, logical infant development?? we dont know her ahaha, maybe some gale redemption?, not a slowburn but its complicated, tiny little bit of finnick/katniss content but like NO but like YES, toast!baby, who knows..., willow has the renesmee "super baby" ~spice~ bc sCiEnCe n shit, willow is a precious angel who deserves the world
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:54:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28185705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfPearlsAndSunsets/pseuds/OfPearlsAndSunsets
Summary: As if Katniss wasn't having a hard enough time adjusting to District 13 and losing Peeta, a baby is placed in her arms and captures her heart in a way that nobody else ever had. While she navigates becoming a mother - something that she has never wanted - she embraces her role as the Mockingjay and does what she can to protect her loved ones.set during Catching Fire & Mockingjay
Relationships: Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair, Haymitch Abernathy/Effie Trinket, Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Comments: 38
Kudos: 133





	1. new

**__**

**_Now_ **

My eyes fly open when familiar anguish-filled coos find my ears, filling up the space of my singular compartment - one just for the two of us. My heart aches just a bit when her soft cry enters the atmosphere. I will not let her whine herself back to sleep, even though Haymitch would probably argue that constantly being there for her would make her too dependent on me. For weeks, I mulled over that idea; the idea that one of these days, I truly might not be there for her ever again. But I can't bring myself to let her lay in the darkness, searching for me. For as long as this world wills me to be with her, I will be. Every time.

Because the truth is, I need her just as much as she needs me.

And I don't mind rousing myself from bed. It's not like I am sleeping anyway. The nights are hard in District 13. Alone and cold. Holding her tiny warm body urges me to not succumb to the frigid darkness of this lonesome room or tuck myself into the quiet hum of a storage closet.

I throw the poorly made sheets off me and rush to her aid, finding that simply hanging over her bed and making myself seen quells her fears. 

Her small button nose is red and tears stream down her full face; this fullness soothes me in my darkest of moments. It reminds me of the hundreds of Seam children who have not had her fortune of being full. Her tiny hands reach for me.

I begin to softly recite the verses of the _Valley Song_ as I tighten my robe around me and pull her to my body. The minute my skin touches hers, she calms. 

Her face nuzzles into my chest as I rock her softly. Her cries slowly diminish and are replaced with soft whimpers, eventually leading to content silence.

"Mama's got you," I whisper, pressing a lingering kiss to the downy hair on the top of her head. Supporting her, I relax back into my bed with her pressed gently to my chest. The nurses I've encountered swayed me from letting her lay in bed with me, for fear that I might roll over and smother her in the night. But Seam babies always slept close to their parents, even if they were fortunate to have a cot of their own. 

I vaguely remember my mother holding me flush against her body a few years before my father's death. It is one of my fonder memories of my relationship with her. We're working on forming a better mother-daughter bond. The introduction of my own child has bridged the gap in our relationship that we had been missing for years. In the beginning, it was hard, but having my mother by my side has made it all the easier.

My sweet baby is lulled back into the land of dreams while her tiny hand clutches my thumb like a vice. I run my fingertips in soft circles on her back. I find that I have relaxed as well, matching my shallow breaths with her deep ones.

Willow has an effect on me that so few have been able to breach.

I run through the words I remind myself every day.

_My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am seventeen years old. There is no District 12. I was in the Hunger Games. I escaped. District 13 and the rebels rescued me. Peeta was taken prisoner to the Capitol. I need to get him back. I have a daughter. Peeta has a daughter. Her name is Willow._

My mind drifts to him. I can still see so perfectly our last glance. I can still feel our final kiss, burning my lips, searing the memory of his touch into my very being. No, I don't think anyone or anything could make me forget our final moment of peace.

_I'll see you at midnight._

__

__

I had said foolishly. How could we not see through the plan then?

When I do sleep, I see him standing in the jungle, machete in hand, holding himself back as much as he can muster. I could tell then that it took everything in him to not run after me. I can still hear his screams after the canons fired. I can feel my throat burning, screaming as to draw the Careers in. 

_Peeta._

Is he able to sleep? Is he laying in bed, looking up at the ceiling, thinking of me now? Is he still capable of speech? Is he being tortured? Is he even still breathing? 

My biggest regret is not drinking in his wholeness sooner. Telling him that the moments we shared were not all for the cameras. I used him selfishly, yearned for him when it was convenient for me, and never took a moment to be his comfort. I always assumed that he would be there and now that he's not, especially when I need him now more than ever, I find myself sinking every day just a bit more.

Willow pulls me from that suffocation, soothes the fears that send sharp pains through my heart nearly every day, but her instinctive needs for me only do so much. There is still an immense gape in my heart - one that can only be filled by the boy with the bread. 

And now, I've lost it forever.

Sometimes my mind does let me rest. Dreams of him bursting through the door at the sound of Willow's cries. He envelops us in his warmth and we are together. A family. The cruelty comes when I wake.

I try not to linger on the idea of him coming back to me. To us. But when I do, I wonder if it will be similar to mine.

**__**

**_Then - One Week after the Quarter Quell_ **

It's been a week since I was lifted from the clock arena. When I close my eyes, I hear the jabberjay's screeching and empty promises that are sealed with saltwater and tears. 

I don't mean to become an Avox and I don't want to ignore Prim, but it is hard to find the words now. I squeeze her hand occasionally, so she knows that some part of me is still there, still infinitely grateful to Gale for rescuing my mother and Prim in time. 

The merchant's side, Peeta's family included, were not as lucky to escape the Capitol's firebombs. I killed them - I know it - and Madge, my dear sweet Madge, has virtually erased from existence. Nobody has heard from the Undersee's since our district was eradicated. She has entered my nightmares.

I'm poked and prodded and many times out of the day a brain doctor will come in and ask me "how I feel". I've found that pretending to drift off, out of boredom, gets them to leave a lot faster than giving them a meager shrug or complete silence. Dealing with the doctors ultimately ends up being easier than sitting in my grieve; however, I always seem to forget this in the moment.

The truth is that my heart is crumbling. Every time I close my eyes, I see Peeta's bright blue eyes shining in the orange rays of the clock arena's gentle sunset. His favorite color. It's torturous that he was able to take the place of my nightmares a spot of beauty. It's torture. I didn't cherish his love enough and now I've lost him.

I was supposed to protect him. Keep him alive.

His dying wish was fulfilled by Haymitch. 

_Haymitch._

I can't even bear to see him without wanting to dig my nails in and scar him permanently the way this loss has scarred me. This is unfair though, but he loves Peeta too.

I would give anything to hold Peeta's face in my hands. To run my fingers through his golden curls. To press my lips against his in a passionate heat. To rest my head on his beating chest and never let him go. I would give anything just to hear his voice again so I can replace it with the screams that haunt me.

My hands clench; reaching for something, craving the touch of his soft ones. With a grunt, I shift upwards and stare at the wall, waiting for Prim to visit me as she usually does at this time. She will sometimes brush my hair and whisper soothing words. Or hold my hand while I allow myself a few moments to silently cry.

Seconds tick by. Then minutes. Then hours.

Surely I couldn't have gotten the hours mixed up. All I ever do is wait for her.

My eyes begin to feel heavy. I'm about to allow myself to sleep when I hear a parade of footsteps make their way towards my door. A crowd of familiar faces enter my hospital room. 

My mother, Prim, Haymitch, and Plutarch stand before me. Effie hangs in the back with a wrapped cloth in her arms.

I hold my confused gaze on Haymitch until it becomes too hard to bear. I want to hate him. But I can't find it in me. My eyes flick away to my mother, whose lips are a smooth line. Its one of those looks that seem rehearsed and she's trying to hide from me.

It's painstakingly obvious that Gale was supposed to be here but isn't. In fact, he's only come to see me one time and it hurts. He's avoiding me like the plague.

"Katniss," my mother starts very cautiously and takes a breath. Prim sits on the bed and takes my hand in hers.

For the first time in a week, I find my voice.

"What's going on?" It's scratchy and it hurts, but it's something. 

My mother joins Prim's side, running a gentle hand through my hair. My lips quivers, she hasn't touched me like this in years. I have so much fear in myself but, for a moment, I have my mom back. 

She gives me a small smile and says gently, "There's something that we've been hiding from you. We all didn't know what to do or how to approach you about it because we aren't sure what to think ourselves. But I can't see you suffer like this anymore," she strokes my cheek, and then, "And this isn't something you should have hidden from you anymore."

I open my mouth to say something, only to find that my voice won't work again.

She can see the fear in me and she says, "It's going to be okay and I will be here for you this time. I promise." And she means it. 

For the first time in forever, she has finally said the right thing. I want to burst into tears and expel all of the emotions I've had bottled up for years, but I don't get the opportunity. 

Effie holds the bundle of cloth carefully as she makes her way towards me. Haymitch shifts uncomfortably and Plutarch stares at me like a hawk, waiting for some sort of reaction from me. 

What I thought was a bundle of cloth is gently placed in my arms, only it's not a bundle of cloth. It's a baby. A small child, not more than a few months old, if not a few weeks. It's so small and warm through the district's issued hospital blankets.

"W-what is this?" I stumble over my thoughts. None of this makes any sense. Handing me a child won't fill this wound in my heart, nor am I in any position to be playing babysitter. 

"It's a baby, Sweetheart," Haymitch says sarcastically. Effie shoots him a wicked look, in a way that only Effie could do. I probably would join her, if I had the energy.

"Mom?" I ask, looking away from the baby and trying to find the answer in her. My mom rests her warm hand on my shoulder as Prim looks down at the baby. I don't want to look at it anymore. I don't want it in my arms.

_Why are they doing this?_

Plutarch moves to the chair next to the bed while Effie and Haymitch lean against a wall, watching my every bated breath. Her hand lingers next to his; she searching for something from him too. The status of their tumultuous relationship confuses me, but not as much as this baby does.

I find it in me to look down at her. I believe it's a girl. She has a soft patch of dark hair and long feather-like eyelashes. I feel a tug on my heart. Where's her mother or father? Why haven't they come to take her from me?

_I don't understand this feeling._

"I'm going to start from the beginning and try to make this less complicated," Plutarch begins with a deep inhale. My mother squeezes my shoulder, holding onto me and I am grateful for it.

"During your Victory Tour, Snow had me serve as his counsel because I was, as you know, Seneca's replacement. He confided in me that he had multiple means of dealing with you and Peeta's act. Obviously, he didn't reveal them all to me, but it was clear that he needed leverage over both of you." 

As if my family's life wasn't enough, I think to myself. The cogs in my mind haven't started to move, but my breath still catches in my throat. I stare down at this small child, who has lashes of a doe and the softness of Peeta's favorite kind of sunset. 

"Snow had spies follow your every move during your time in the Capitol. They acted as regular guests at his parties, collecting any glass the two of you may have touched or even hair from a brush that you may have used. All he needed a little bit of your DNA..." Plutarch hesitates to continue. I can feel Haymitch's eyes soften; I must look terrified. 

But my mother and Prim are solid and reassuring. Hands comforting me, loving me, sending me warmth. 

"After the samples were collected and given to Snow's private team on the matter, they were able to..." Plutarch drifts off, finding the words hard himself. He stares at the baby in my arms.

_This isn't possible._

"Many women in the Capitol use similar techniques in order to avoid the complications of pregnancy. The gestation period for this one was only four weeks. After that, she grew normally."

I know that I should have spelled it out for myself at this point, but I can't bring myself to believe it. I look down at the small human in my shaking arms, so fragile and so new, and almost choke when her eyes meet mine. 

Pure blue. As blue as the deepest ocean or clearest sky. The light catches them in such a magnificent way. These are almost a merchant's eyes. Almost my mother's eyes. Almost my sister's eyes. 

These are Peeta's eyes. This was his baby. If nothing else about this little one, I knew that much. 

Almost instantly, I'm able to pick out all the features that belong to him and belong to me. She has things of her own, too. 

I close my eyes, finding that looking at her is too hard. It's finally clear that nothing is too far for Snow. Had I died in the arena, she would be a darling to the Capitol. What would have happened to her? She would have grown up clueless, lost, lied to. She would never have known a family or where she belonged or who she belonged to. I envision Capitol children, clueless to the world. Never having to know starvation or grief. A brain-washed fool in the clutches of that man and this cruel world and it breaks me. 

"Why?" I murmur to no one in particular; there's a realization that this is the first thing I've said that's more than a whisper. 

"If you ended up surviving the Quell, Snow would have had something to use against you. Your child," Haymitch says solemnly. "I hadn't found out until the morning of the Quell. But, thankfully with Effie's help, we were able to retrieve her before everything happened."

Before I was separated from Peeta. Before I destroyed the arena. Before my home was burned to the ground, leaving nothing but hopeless ash and a fire in my soul that was nearly out.

"She's mine?" I ask still shocked at the mere thought of any of this.

"Yes, honey," my mother says as she kisses my forehead. 

"And Peeta's," I say softly, sinking back into the sadness that comes when I think of him. I need him so badly. How can I protect this girl without him? Prim smiles sadly at me and her eyes drift to the baby. 

_My baby._

"We'll get him back Katniss," she whispers, "We'll figure out."

The baby still stares up at me, taking me in as I do for her. It's terrifying how quickly she has made her way to the top of my list of people to protect. I don't want to feel attached to her, this child that never would've been here if I had the choice, because of the fear of losing her. 

I can't fight the feeling of holding her though. I don't ever want to let go.

_What is this feeling?_

I caress her little bit of dark hair and she latches onto my hand with her surprisingly strong fist. Of course, she's strong. To survive in this world, she'll have to be.

All eyes are on me. 

Plutarch stands up after another long moment and says, "I need to meet with President Coin and adjust some future plans. If you need anything Katniss, just reach out." He leaves without another word or a response from me. I'm too enamored by my world to think about anything but this little girl.

"What's her name?" I ask and bring her hand to my lips. 

Effie exchanges a look with Haymitch and says, "She doesn't really have one."

"What have you been calling her?" I ask her. 

"The baby," Haymitch says. "You're her mother, that's for you to decide."

My mother's watch beeps, alerting her that she is needed in another wing. She plants a kiss on my head, promising to return in a few hours, and then graciously exists.

Prim leans next to me with a smile and brushes the baby's face. She coos and my heart clenches. How has she wrapped herself around my soul so quickly?

Effie returns to my side and says, "My darling girl, you are going to make a wonderful mother. I just know it. I'm going to bring you some of her things, but I promise I will be back soon." She touches my face in an endearing way that I've never received from Effie before. I can't imagine what this whole experience must be like for her. Being ripped away from everything she has ever known and tossed into a whole new world. I understand the feeling.

"We're still a team," she says, exchanging a look with Haymitch. I can tell that she wants me to forgive him, they've probably had a conversation or two about it too, but I can't bring myself to do it yet. One day, but not any time soon.

Under his breath, Haymitch murmurs, "Congratulations, Sweetheart" but it barely reaches my ears. He doesn't know where we stand either. It's clear that he wants to say more, but he can't find the words. He and Effie exist. It occurs to me that the lengths they went through to get this child in my arms now are enormous. 

I gaze down at the endless sea of blue. Dread becomes me. 

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do with her, Prim. I'm not good at this kind of thing."

I remember Peeta with the children of District Four, ruffling their heads and speaking kind words," Peeta's the one good with kids. I can't-"

"Katniss," Prim interrupts with a small grin plastered to her face. "The reaction you've had to this news has surpassed everyone's expectations. If I'm going to be honest, I expected you to refuse to look at her and deny what's right in front of you."

"I've done an awful lot of that, haven't I?" I murmur with a voice full of self-pity. Refusing and denying. I can't afford to do that anymore. By sheltering my heart, I have denied myself the most prized treasure. Love. I can't let this be like everything else.

"You've protected me for so long, Katniss. You may think that you're loveless or undeserving of anything like it, but you couldn't be more wrong." She gazes down at the baby's fist wrapped around my index finger, "And if that isn't love, then I don't know what is," she says gently, placing a kiss on both of our foreheads. 

"I need to get back to work, but I will come back for dinner. The other nurses will come by in a few minutes to get you situated with feeding and diaper changes," she says as she scrunches her nose. When did she get so strong and beautiful? She's so old now. Strong. I hate that she had to blossom in a world as dark as this and that she has to have had seen the things that she did. But she is stronger for it.

"Maybe tonight we can figure out some names for her," Prim says as she lingers by the door.

"There's no need. I know her name," I murmur as pride fills me. I haven't accepted this goodness into my heart until this very moment. 

I brush _my daughter's_ soft cheeks with my thumb and she has a fit of giggles at my touch. I smile with her, knowing that she has already put all her trust in me.

"Well, what is it?" Prim asks with a joyful sense of urgency. It's been killing her to find a name for my daughter. 

I look up at Prim.

"Willow. Her name is Willow."


	2. flower

**_Now_ **

**  
**

Willow's abrupt squirming rouses me from the fretful bit of sleep I was able to get. My eyes peer down at her as she pushes down on her little arms to woefully sit up. She coos a bit louder as if to wake me faster. 

"Hello, Flower," I say with a voice full of sleep. 

I rest my hands on her back, supporting her before she could begin to topple over. She makes a few noises and rocks playfully from side to side. I smile. She smiles. Everything is okay. She makes everything okay. 

The faux sunlight - if I could even call it that - lightens the room a bit, notifying me that I must become one with the world again. With a sigh, I pick up her small body and adjust her on my hip.

Her thick dark curls are frizzy from sleep and I try my best to smooth them out for appearance's sake, but they seem to have a mind of their own. I press my lips to her warm head and lean into her just a bit. 

She still has that fresh baby smell that I've become enamored by. Whenever the world seems like too much, I just press my nose to the top of her head and breathe. 

I often acknowledge the fact that she is the only thing keeping me grounded. Who would I be without this glimmer of light? Willow's just so happy all of the time and, when I feel that sadness creep up on me, I find it so immensely difficult to let it consume me. 

She is a reflection of everything I do and everything I am. Everything that is good in this world and I can't find it in myself to deter that happiness.

As if she can read my thoughts, she points to her button nose and raises her faint brows at me.

"That's your nose, Flower." 

I press our noses together, giving her a little nuzzle before she bursts into a fit of laughter. 

With that, I get started with our day. I change her and put her in the district's drab gray clothes - which is something of a disgrace to Effie. On multiple occasions, she has claimed that once this whole "revolution ordeal" was over, she would ensure that Willow was the finest dressed child in all of Panem. 

The singular vain bone in my body craves to share some of my old clothes with my daughter. The clothes that have been passed down for generations from Everdeen girls. Even my mother's clothes too. Surely, they're a bit roughed up from years of use, but at least they hold a shred of life. A year ago, a gray jumpsuit wouldn't have mattered this much to me. I guess things have changed. I've changed.,

So, for now, she will have to endure the clothes of recycled materials.

After I've fed her and aided to all of her needs, she buries her hair in my neck drifting off for her morning nap. After a moment of rocking, a gentle rest on my bed, and a hesitant sigh later, I take some time to collect myself and my thoughts for the day.

I've spent the majority of my time in Thirteen aiding Willow's every need and rebuilding my foundation after everything that has happened. 

Somehow, Coin has tolerated this maternal need of mine. Some, like Gale, may say that my uneagerness to help the rebels is impeding the success of the rebellion. But Coin herself has left me to my own devices for a few weeks. And for that, I am grateful. As much as I don't trust her, I am grateful for these fleeting moments Willow and I have together. 

I cherish every second I have with her.

It's easier than dwelling on Peeta's wellbeing or wallowing in grief at the depths of Thirteen in a small storage closet.

However, today is different. 

Coin's patience with me has run its course and now my duties have begun. I'm not too familiar with what that could possibly be. I'm not a leader. I'm not the person she thinks I am. I can't empower the masses on a whim. But that's what is expected if there is any promise for a better future. 

And that's a lot of pressure.

Gale's disappointed in my lack of passion for the rebellion. He, like many, has painted me into a version of myself that only exists in moments of strength. I'm not the young huntress in the woods that he used to know me as. I'm not the victor that Coin sees me as. I'm not the rebel that Snow believes me to be. 

I can't insight genuine change on my own.

This position, this symbol, was not gifted to me because I simply won my games. 

Without Prim, I don't have passion. Without Rue, I'm without a song. Without Cinna, I'm not the Mockingjay. Without Peeta, I'm not the beautiful, twirling girl who has a voice that moves the masses. I've finally acknowledged that I didn't get here on my own. 

People like Gale and Coin seem to have forgotten that part. It sickens me how much my best friend has changed - but, I suppose, he could say the same about me. My list of people I love has changed drastically since my first games.

I know I've lost Gale. 

I knew that after the first games when every conversation was touch and go. We never saw each other. Never connected again. There were things he asked of me that he knew I couldn't agree with. 

Once upon a time, we could've run into those woods with our small family and never turned back. And sometimes when I look at him now, I think he still believes that that could be our reality. 

It's over though. 

I don't think it really hit him that it was over until he saw Willow. With her bright blue eyes, strikingly reminiscent of Peeta. After that, I think it was kind of impossible for Gale to look at me like he wanted to. 

The girl stirs awake, pulling me from my reverie, and coos for attention.

"Okay, my flower," I murmur against her head, "Let's get this day over with."

The sooner I complete my required tasks, the sooner I can come back here and spend my day with Willow and forget about everything else that I have failed at. 

This will be the first Command meeting I have attended with a sound mind. The first ended with a few tasteful words to Coin regarding Peeta's abandonment and a flight to the destruction site of my desecrated home. The Seam, the town, everything in sight besides Victor's Village, was flattened in the earth - buried like my father all those years ago. 

I had stumbled through the streets, gasping as I went down the streets that I had grown up on. Everything was gone. After the war, there would be nothing to come back to but empty memories. Even the air tasted different on my tongue.

I had sobbed when I made it to the bakery. Peeta's entire family was gone.

There was nothing for him to come back to, except for Willow. _And me._

Once more, Willow's stirring in my arms pulls me from my mind. I'm consumed by her warmth. I wrap myself up in a scrappy, passed-down coat from Thirteen and leave our compartment, making my way to the dining hall to meet Finnick before my meeting.

He recently found his way out of the hospital and, rather than sulking all day, he's found that spending time with Willow and I distracts him for a little while. I'll do anything I can to help because, as it would turn out, he has become one of my closest friends.

Only when I reach the dining all, he is not alone. Gale sits across from him, not revealing much on his face about their conversation. When Willow's eyes find Finnick, she lets out a shrill screech and extends her hands in his direction.

I inwardly sigh. Gale and I haven't been on the best terms and I'm really not trying to continue any disagreements today. 

But Finnick is my friend - one of my only friends in Thirteen - and I'm not planning on abandoning him anytime soon.

Finnick whips his head around at the sound of Willow's calls to him. He makes an overexaggerated face, drops the knot he was working on to the table, and reaches for my baby. I gladly hand her over and ease into the space next to him. 

Our hands brush as the exchange happens. 

"How's the prettiest baby in the district this morning?" he coos at her and presses a kiss to the top of her head. 

"She seems to have a cheerful spirit today," I say and smile at my friend. I glance at Finnick's plate. He seems to have nibbled at the sparse gray stew (more likely than not, he probably just brushed it around with a fork) and left the solid bread alone. 

I steal his bread off the platter, tear off a chunk, and attempt to savor whatever flavor it has to offer me. I don't have the stomach for much else and Finnick never minds when I take from him.

"How has your morning been?" I direct my question to both of them or neither of them.

Gale clears his throat before saying, "I have a meeting in Command after breakfast."

"Me too," I say somewhat shyly. I'm not surprised by this. Coin and Plutarch seem to allude to the idea that Gale and I will be working closely together. For what reason, I'm not too sure. They're probably working with the old information that we were thick as thieves and would do anything for each other. I don't know how relevant that idea still is; our motives have changed so drastically.

Finnick seems to notice the tension and clears his throat.

"Well, I have a meeting with the head doctor in a couple of hours. If you need me to, I could watch Willow for a couple of hours before that," Finnick offers kindly. "I don't know how long your meeting will last..."

The words become quieter and quieter as he continues the sentence. He senses that I don't want to be separated from her for an extended period of time. Ever since Effie set her in my arms, I haven't been able to leave her alone for longer than thirty minutes, let alone multiple hours.

"I was planning on bringing her with me to the meeting," I conclude. "At least for today to see where I stand with Coin-"

"I don't think she will appreciate a baby being present during the meeting, Catnip," Gale says bluntly. Maybe it's the way he's staring at Finnick and I. Or maybe it's the way he occasionally drops his eyes down to Willow - not quite a glare, but still enough to convey that he is _okay_ with her presence - but he is becoming extremely intolerable to be around.

He can think whatever he wants about my platonic relationship with Finnick, but I draw the line when it comes to Willow. With that said, I can't find it in me to have this argument here and now. 

I collect my thoughts before saying, "Coin will just have to deal with it today. My mother and Prim are working." I turn to Finnick, then, "And I appreciate your offer, but I think I can handle her for today. Maybe another time though."

I trust Finnick with her with every shred of trust I have to offer, especially after he brought her father back from the dead, but my confidence is constantly wavering.

Finnick, like any other Victor, can sense my anxiety when it comes to Willow - one of the only good things in my world - and rests his hand on my shoulder.

"Hey, no worries," he says with a cheeky smile as if to lessen the tension in my shoulders, and then, "I just don't want you to get overwhelmed with everything. I'm here if you need me though." 

He tickles Willow's cheek and she turns away from the delicate touch with a giggle. She buries her feather-soft cheek into my chest and I happily wrap my arms around her seated posture. My lips connect with her downy head of hair as the trumpets sound on the televisions. 

The sound startles me. Since we've been here, I've ignored the Capitol broadcasted content like the plague. Finnick leans in and says, "Apparently, they've been broadcasting the Quell highlights and running your name through the dirt. It's riveting stuff."

His voice is filled with sarcasm. I bet the Capitol is keeping their people in the dark and only releasing information that destroys my reputation. In their eyes, I'm the delusional, twirling fool who doesn't know how to carry a proper conversation. A fool. 

It's embarrassing and degrading and _I hate it._

"I'm not going to watch them make a fool of me," I say to the two of them. "I'll be in my room until Coin summons me."

I start to stand up, clasping Willow to my chest, when the all too familiar anthem for Ceasar's show plays.

It's not another reshowing of the Quell's highlights. It's an interview.

And Ceaser's guest is Peeta Mellark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took me so long to update! i actually started working on a ~prequel~ type piece for this story... (i know i post ONE CHAPTER and i already started planning ANOTHER one to add to it) in conclusion, i'm a mess aklsdjfhaslfdkdjh!1!!!11!!!1!!1
> 
> anyways, i'll let you know when i post that too haha. 
> 
> let me know what you think of this chapter! it's short and sweet but the next chaptere will pick up the pace a bit. i plan to post that next week (hopefully).


	3. wisp of light

_****_

**Then - After the Bombing**

The powdery ash has settled on my boots by the time I enter my house in the Victor's Village. There's a heaviness in the air that I had not been expecting upon entry.

Everything is slow still.

I'm thankful for it too because I've found that my heart is nearly beating out of my chest from anxiety. I killed them. Every single one of them.

My bones still rattle from the sheer expanse of death that I had been surrounded by. I destroyed my home. The Seam is gone, practically a hole in the earth, like it was never even there. 

There's comfort in coming back to Victor's Village, especially after I've put on my father's hunting jacket and shoved some of my mother's apothecary supplements in my bag. It's familiar and, for a moment, I forget.

I hurry upstairs to Prim's room for the knitted blanket that my mother made ages ago. _It might be nice to pass something down to Willow,_ I think to myself. She's a baby, and she can't process the meaning of trivial things like a plain blanket, but it means something to me. 

My head instinctively shakes at how much I've changed and, in this very second, I can't blame Gale for turning his back on me. I don't recognize myself anymore either.

Carefully, I fold the blanket like it's something exuberantly precious and head to my mother's room to collect the single picture we have of my father. I'm startled by the orange cat that stands in the door frame. He lets out a hideous meow that I could live without. But I can't leave the ugly creature.

"Of course you would be here," I say bitterly at the beast. In response, he lets out a hiss. Regretfully, I shove him in my bag without another thought. 

Back in the kitchen, I find myself at the family plant book. Peeta and I had worked so hard on it before the announcement of the Quell. As I pick up the book, a plethora of photographs fall out the bottom and float to the floors like feathers. They're of Peeta and me.

I stare down at the small collection of photographs; we took them just a week or two before the announcement of the Quell. For the briefest of moments, the mere idea of peace was just out of our reach. 

Nevertheless, we look happy. 

His eyes shine a marvelous blue while I give the camera the slightest hint of a smile. That meant something to us. As I carefully set our small collection of pictures in my bag next to the mangy beast, my nose twitches. A shiver ripples down my spine and I can smell it. Roses. 

I whip my head around, fully expecting Snow to be standing in the doorway, but he isn't. Set on my mother's desk is a perfectly fresh white rose, peeking out from a cluster of other dead ones. Instinctively, I pluck it from the cluster. The moment it touches my skin, I can hear Snow's voice like a sinister whisper.

_I can find you. I can reach you. Perhaps, I am watching you now._

I drop the rose and run out the door.

**__** __

_**Now** _

The breath is ripped from my lungs.

He looks healthy - so much better than the person who is present in my nightmares. His skin is free of bruises and his skin is practically glowing, in that full-body-polish sort of way. 

The only concerning part is that there are small bags under his eyes that even makeup can't cover-up. 

Peeta isn't sleeping well.

The beginning of the interview is awkward, especially after Caeser confesses that he never thought he would see Peeta alive again. Caeser leans into him and says, "I think it was all clear to us what your plan was. To sacrifice yourself in the arena so Katniss Everdeen and your child could survive."

At the mention of our make-believe child, I run my hand up Willow's spine.

 _Oh, Peeta._ I think to myself. _If only you knew._

It occurs to me that he may very well know about Willow. I don't know how much information Snow is willing to give him. If it's anything like my singular conversation with the president, which resulted in my knowledge of Seneca Crane, Snow would tell him anything if there was a way to manipulate him.

His eyes are hollowed out. Sad. But he's _alive_ and physically unharmed and that's an award in itself. I just need to get him back now before Snow can inflict any more damage.

The weight of the pearl in my pocket has become immensely heavy.

"That was it. Clear and simple." His finger traces the upholstery of the chair before saying, "But other people had their own plans."

They run through the events that occurred that night in the clock arena. The confusion. The heat. The humidity. The canons. The screams. 

I learn then that Peeta was the one to kill Brutus in a fit of rage. I can hear his strangled yells now that night in the arena. I remember his name on my lips as I beg for the Careers to kill me instead. It was my final wish. To sacrifice myself for Peeta Mellark.

Willow stirs in my arms. Her head turns towards the screen at the sound of Peeta's voice. I can't see her face and I can't find the energy to turn her away either.

There are words tumbling out of his mouth that I can't quite grasp now; I can only drink in his features. He's alive. He's seemingly okay.

"What does your heart tell you?" Caeser asks in reference to Haymitch's involvement in the act that occurred in the arena.

"I shouldn't have trusted him," Peeta says, "Katniss and I should've just run away, and maybe then I wouldn't have lost her."

There are more words, mentions of a cease-fire (which sounds like a decent idea when Peeta's the one to craft the sentiment). The people around me begin to say words like _enemy_ , _liar_ , and _traitor_ , to the man on the screen. But Willow does something different.

She peers at Peeta with the widest grin, tilts her head to see my reaction, and then reaches to the direction of the screen. 

Fear and confusion rip through me, overriding the joy I had felt moments ago at the revelation that Peeta was still alive.

In fact, I find it impossible to breathe. 

How can this small child, who has never seen this man in her life (and is probably more inclined to think Finnick is her father) look at him like that? How can her eyes widen like that at him?

The crowd erupts in anger, swallowing up my thoughts, and the only thing I can properly think about is that I need to get out of here. I tuck Willow's head to my chest and leave the room quickly, leaving Finnick and Gale without a single word.

When we've made our way back to our compartment, I slam the door shut, prop her up with some pillows, and begin to rummage through my keepsakes. The locket, the family plant book, the paintings, and finally, the small number of pictures I have of Peeta and me.

I hold up the picture of Peeta and I smiling, waiting for some reaction from her - and hopefully, none at all. But, to no avail.

She pokes at the picture, more specifically at Peeta, and giggles in her sweet childish giggle. Willow attempts to rip it from my hand, probably to chew at it, but I gently deny her advances.

"No, Flower," I murmur at her. She (surprisingly) doesn't put up much of a fight about it, quickly drawing her attention back to her feet. 

Internally, I try to rationalize what is going through my child's mind. I mean, Peeta looks happy in the picture, surely that would bring anyone to smile. But then I remember the interview and the hollowed out look in his eyes. Those were not the eyes of the same man in the picture.

I come to the conclusion that I need an outsider's opinion. And who better than a Capitol doctor?

I take Willow into my arms, wrap her up in a blanket, and walk to the hospital. As I walk, the swaying of my movement seems to lull her into a calmer state than the excited one from moments ago. Her hand escapes the wrappings and she unconsciously rubs it up and down my arm. 

My mind starts to run wild with theories and concerns. Her brain isn't developed enough to know what a father is. Or to recognize unfamiliar people on a screen. She can't just pull information about people she doesn't know from thin air and it's extremely doubtful that she would recognize him from a picture I showed her once or twice in her entire life.

"Is Dr. Aurelius here?" I quickly ask the receptionist at the medical wing.

The woman looks at me quizzically, turns to her computer log, and says, "Yes, but he's not specialized in the infant department."

"It's a special case. Could you please call for him?" 

I can sense her growing annoyance at my simple request. The woman tucks her greying hair behind her ear and says, "Take a seat. He'll be here shortly."

Willow coos into my chest and peers up at me. I wonder about what she could possibly be thinking about right now. I hope whatever it is, it's something sweet. 

Sometimes when I let my mind drift off, I think about the meadow and its bountiful dandelions that bloom once the snow melts. I think about the way the leaves change in the fall and how those trees look in the winter. One day, when this is all over - if it ever ends - I want to take Willow to the same places my father took me. The lake and its surrounding areas, which were thankfully left unscathed by Capitol firebombs. 

As for the meadow and my home in the Seam - it's all gone. What remains of District Twelve is nothing but a memory to the people that inhabited it. The same could be said about my father.

"Katniss?" Dr. Aurelius asks as his head pokes from around a corner. His sudden appearance causes me to tense up and rip me from my, rather unpleasant, thoughts.

"Hello, little one," he says to Willow, offering her his finger like an olive branch, to which she gives him a slight wave of her hand. "Follow me."

His office is located in another wing of the hospital down seemingly endless corridors. 

I'm quite familiar with the section of the hospital. It's where Dr. Aurelius treats his patients, such as Finnick, Beetee, and I. 

From my mother's knowledge, he was one of the only doctors who supported the decision of allowing me to have custody of Willow. For that, he has my endless trust. 

There are days when I wonder what would have become of me had his input not been given. It all trickles back to Coin. Had Aurelius not said anything, I'm sure there would've been a rebellion of my own in District Thirteen.

"What seems to be the problem?" He asks once we've reached his office. He gestures to a simple chair across from his.

"It's Willow," I start, clearly stating the obvious. "It's not a problem necessarily. I'm just a bit concerned. We were just in the dining hall and an interview of Caeser began to play and-"

"The interview with Peeta?" he clarifies, leaning back in his chair.

"Yes. The most peculiar thing happened. She heard his voice and it was like she woke up. I can't really explain it, but she acted as if she knew him. Willow has a little smile that she only does for me or Finnick or my mother and Prim, but when she saw him today, she did that smile. It was...I just -" 

My words begin to fail me. I feel the heated tears build up behind my eyelids. Aurelius isn't a stranger to this either.

"Afterwards, I brought her back to our compartment and showed her a picture of him before coming here," I murmur as she stirs anxiously in my lap, "She recognized him then, too."

"Have you ever pointed him out to her before today? Such as other pictures or clips the district has access to?" 

"Once or twice. I have pictures of Peeta and me, but I hardly ever have it in me to show them to her," I answer honestly. "I tell her about him and I show her his drawings, and yes, I point him out to her occasionally, but she's never met him." 

My throat constricts. 

"Katniss," he begins, "I don't know how much has been revealed to you about children born like Willow." 

"What do you mean?" I ask as Willow latches onto my finger and begins to play with it.

"75% of women in the Capitol don't have children the natural way like those in the districts. It's because they believe that pregnancy is too much of a burden or messes with the aesthetic of a woman's body." I am about to protest at how ridiculous people can be but he raises his hands up in defense, "Their ideologies, not mine! The alternative is what Snow had done to you and Peeta. I believe Plutarch already told you all of this..."

"Yes," I say quickly, "How does that relate to Willow's maturity?"

"Gamemakers."

"Gamemakers?" I ask, raising my brow. Willow takes my finger into her mouth and begins to chew on it with her gummy mouth.

"Gamemakers. When people have the ability to manipulate DNA, they sometimes go to extremes. Which results in children who are fast developers. I mean, Willow's gestation period was vastly short, so we can't assume that this doesn't carry over to her mind. Many children are raised to be at the top of their class in the hopes that they can potentially get a position as a Gamemaker or a political leader. The obsession with being apart of the games runs deep and many of them will stop at nothing to get to the top.

"The truth is, I wouldn't be surprised if she started trying to talk to you."

An uncomfortable weight sits in the pit of my stomach, becoming heavier and heavier by the second. 

Are all Capitol children like this? Brilliant at a young age and then...lost? I think of my prep team: Flavius, Venia, and Octavia. I wonder what has become of them now. Did they fulfill the predestined goal that was set for them before birth?

 _Effie. Cinna. Portia._ Is this the case for everyone I've encountered in the Capitol?

Willow bites down particularly hard on my pinky finger and I wince at the sensation.

"What does that mean for Willow?" I ask concerned. 

Dr. Aurelius sighs with a gentle smile, "As I said, the basic symptoms are earlier speech development. I would suspect that she'll start picking up words that you say and repeating them soon, so be wary of what you say. When it comes to mobility, she'll probably begin walking around the seven or eight-month mark." 

Talking. Walking. I wasn't expecting those milestones for months, and now I'm supposed to anticipate them in the coming weeks? Or days?

What am I supposed to tell her when she wants answers about the people I've murdered? About the revolution? About her father? About her conception? Will she reject me? Hate me? How am I going to do any of this myself?

I twirl my fingers her in curly brunette locks, finding that they are my peace and destruction all at once. I am not enough for her. She's too good for me.

" _Katniss_ ," Dr. Aurelius says, wearily, as if he can sense my indifference to my choices thus far. The Katniss I can feel buried deep in my soul would stand up, leave this child in the care of my mother and sister, and bolt for the woods, never to return, but - "you're a good mother. Willow is happy and that's all that matters. And, to be frank, if you're going to survive this, you need to take it a day at a time. You're not doing anything wrong. You just need to have faith in yourself." 

His pep talk doesn't seem to do the trick of easing my mind; however, I give him a forced smile as a consolation prize and sink back in my mind. 

The truth is, I am doing everything wrong. I always do and the people I love always get hurt. Willow is no different. I will end up losing her or breaking her heart, and I can't bear it.

 _I could never abandon her though,_ I tell myself. _I am not my mother._

I banish those sickly thoughts from my mind as quickly as they came. Besides, I could never live with myself if I left Peeta in the Capitol to rot. If I disappeared to the woods tonight, there is nobody in Thirteen who would fight for him as I would. Especially after his interview.

"If you're still concerned in a couple of days, we could schedule some brain scans and other tests for her." He excuses himself to meet with another patient of his and leaves me to my devices.

I stare down at Willow, who seems to be comfortable in her own little world. For a moment, I imagine her being poked and prodded at my expense. As if she wasn't stared at enough by those who passed by us in the halls on a daily basis. 

She is content - happy even - all of the time. So what if she's got an impressive talent for memorization or quick motor skills? She's loved and beautiful and perfect. Too perfect for me anyway.

"Okay, Flower," I sigh and cocoon her in the knitted blanket. She settles in her favorite spot on my chest and coos small vowels like 'oh' and 'ee' in innocent contentment.

The temporary tattoo on my arm burns as I walk in the opposite direction of Command. Peeta's stoic interview and this shocking revelation about my child are enough to set me back a few days. Maybe Gale will find it in himself to vouch for me, but that's doubtful.

He's not the type who hands out mercy.

When we get back, I feed and change her. 

She seems rather satisfied with the day's events and practically falls asleep the moment her head hits the soft mattress of her crib. 

Nobody summons me for the Command meeting. In fact, nobody comes by our compartment at all. I can only assume that they think it is in my best interest to leave me alone. That's untrue though. As the fire burns brighter in the darkness, so do thoughts, and tonight, my mind runs rampant with questions.

What is Peeta doing now? Maybe one of those card towers he mentioned in his interview. Is he thinking about me too?

"You're alive," I whisper into the darkness, pressing my palms against my heated cheeks.

As I lay my head on the pillow, I remember the warm arms that shielded me from the nightmares. The same arms that made me feel loved. _Always._

He gave so much and I gave him so little in return. If he doesn't return to me, I will never forgive myself. Willow's small breaths lull me to my own nightmarish sleep. I have a singular thought before the darkness consumes me.

Snow will never lay a hand on this girl. He will not touch my wisp of light.

**_Then - The Victory Tour_ **

The winter air bites against my skin as we enter the train. Peeta's hand is tentatively placed at the small of my back for the sake of the cameras. Once the doors slide shut, he removes his hand as if I had scalded him.

Since his cold statement after the interview, just minutes ago, I felt a coldness that I hadn't necessarily been anticipating from him. Especially given the tour.

I wasn't going to survive these next two weeks without his solidarity - but maybe that was a big ask from him. I did break his heart and leave him in silence for months on end.

But he didn't seek me out either.

He winces, bunching his lips up in a way that alludes that he's in pain. I start to reach out and ask what's wrong, but he won't have it. He lifts his hands, as if to brush me off, and turns in the direction of his room. The door slides open, he enters, it closes.

The rest of the group makes their way to the sitting room, presumably to discuss Capitol gossip, or drown their sorrows in white liquor. It's not those comforts that I'm seeking out. Taking Peeta's tactic, I sulk away to my room and leave the door locked behind me.

I cocoon myself in the blankets and silently wish that I had never left the arena. 

Then everything would be okay.

~

District Eleven is particularly horrific.

Peeta takes the lead, moving the audience with his thoughtful words. I don't know how he can come up with it on the spot. It occurs to me that maybe he had been thinking about this for weeks too. Everything I thought I'd have the courage to say leaves me. Nothing I could ever say would replace the delicate lives that had been lost.

But what I do say makes things worse for them. An execution plays out in front of my eyes before I have the chance to stop it. This is the opposite of what Snow meant when he asked me to pacify the districts. 

_I can't do this. I can't do any of this right._

There are tears streaming down my face as strange animalistic sounds leave my mouth me. In an instant, Haymitch has clasped both Peeta and I's wrists, weaving us up a twisted maze of stairs to the top of Eleven's Justice Building.

"I was supposed to fix everything and I'm sorry that I couldn't," I cry once we've reached the top. They're confused until I explain everything. Snow and his agenda for me.

Peeta's furious with me for omitting information from him and rightfully so because we've made things worse for these people. 

After that fiasco, Eleven has decided to forgo any of the scheduled events - much to Effie's dismay. She attempts to turn it around and say that this gives me more time to practice her carefully written speeches for Ten. _How am I going to survive this?_

As we are led out of the Justice Building and filed into a car, I find that my hand is tightly squeezing Peeta's. I don't know who reached for who first, but I can't imagine it was him. He's too frustrated with me to selfishly seek out my comfort.

We get into the car, alone this time, when I begin to tremble. Even though there is no one to see us here, I can't bring myself to let go. And he doesn't pull away.

"I understand that you're just trying to protect everyone," he whispers in my ear, ignoring the driver's existence altogether, "But you don't have to carry this burden alone. I'm with you."

His breath is warm, a stark contrast from the biting air of Twelve. His lips are so close. He pulls away. I can't get out any coherent thoughts but I place my other shaking hand over our interlaced one and stare into his blue irises.

I give him the slightest nod and he does the same.

If we somehow convince Snow - doubtful in this very moment - at least, I will have Peeta. Our relationship is so fragile now. I don't know where we stand and I don't think I ever really will know. I do know that I need him by my side, in whatever capacity he is willing to give me, even though I don't deserve his compassion.

His eyes beam into mine and the icy blue is warm. Like his hands.

My head falls to his chest, resting against his heart, and I close my eyes before we are whisked onto the train. This time, when he has the chance to drop his hand from my waist, he doesn't. I don't push him away either.

~

That night, I gently sip away at my honeyed-milk with cinnamon and watch as the woods brush past. It's a blur of green and black, tinged in the blue moonlight. That same moonlight beams into my room.

I wait for the soft drink to pull me to sleep. I won't be able to do it on my own, not with that old man's face still plastered in my head.

I add him to the list of people I have killed, directly or not. It seems that this list is becoming longer and longer by the day.

Similar to the one about those I cannot bear to lose. That sickens me in itself.

Eventually, I'm lulled to sleep. But it isn't long until the monsters get me.

In my dreams, I'm running from mutts.

_They snarl at the back of my legs. I can feel the adrenaline coursing through my body and I try to keep running but my thoughts are consumed with Peeta._

Where is he? How did we get separated? 

_When I've hoisted myself to the top of the Cornucopia, I scream his name."Peeta! Where are you!?"_

_I am frantic. I don't care who I draw in or what's to come. I just need to find him._

_He practically materializes from thin air then. I can't explain it. I rush to his aid. His face is bruised and he cries my name with bloody tears streaming down his cheeks. The dogs are descending on him._

_I extend my hand to him. He takes it. His is slippier with blood, making it harder to hold on, but I will not be the one to let him go. His blue-less, bloody eyes lock on mine. He looks terrified._

_Just as I'm about to get him up, a strong pair of arms rip me away from him. Cato. Peeta slips from my fingers and I've lost him. The mutts tear apart his flesh._

I shoot up in bed with Peeta's name on my lips. My first thought is that it must be true. I need to see him. Touch him. Hear his gentle voice - to make me forget the shrieks of pain that haunt me in my dreams. I can't shake this feeling of longing free.

Just as I pull myself out of bed and get to the door, with the intention of hunting him down, he rushes into my room. In the pale moonlight, I can see his eyes are not full with bloody tears. They are clear. They are an ocean-colored blue.

"Are you okay?" he asks quickly, scanning my body for any injury, even though I know he knows it was a nightmare. I sniffle and rest my hands at the base of his neck.

"I lost you," I stutter out, "The mutts. Th-they-"

I can't continue much further, but he already understands. He hushes me gently, quelling my fears. His hands find their way to my hips, holding me steady to gather myself. To comfort me and confirm that it was just a dream and that he is here. I bury my face in his chest and we just rock there for a moment.

"Please don't go," I cry.

It's desperate and confusing and I know it's unfair after everything I've done to him. But I can't let him go without a fight.

"I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs into my hair. I wrap my arms around his back and cling to him like a vice. He's too good.

Peeta leads me back to the bed, pulling the covers back, and sliding us underneath of them. I bury my head in his side and rest my hand on his chest. Our bodies melt together, completing our other jagged edges. He softens me. I strengthen him. 

After everything, this is the most intimate we have ever been. It occurs to me then that I don't ever want this to change. When we go home, I want him in my bed. I want him there to assure me that somehow everything will be okay. I want to support him in any way that I can muster.

"Peeta," I whisper and draw circles on his chest. He rests his hand on the divot in my back. I entangle our legs. "Can you stay?"

"Always," he says with a honeyed voice, "I already told you I would." 

I sit up and stare down at him, gingerly brushing his fingers with mine. I don't think I will ever be this brave again.

"No, I mean," his ruffled curls and soft features throw me off. How did I get so lucky to have someone like Peeta look up at me like that? Like I'm his entire world? "I mean, sleep here every night and-"

His brows furrow together and he sits up as well.

"Where's this coming from?" he asks, brushing my hair out of my face. I must look wild.

"I haven't been fair to you, Peeta. I want to make things right between us. I care about you and if I lost you, I don't know how I would survive it." His thumb lingers on my chin.

His lips tilt into a little smirk.

"I don't plan on going anywhere but here. You don't have to worry about me. I'll be okay and I'll be here in any way that you want me to-"

"That's so unfair," I express and hold his hands, "Peeta, what do you want?"

He thinks about this for a second and then, "I just want you safe. I want to be by your side and protect you and...and I'm sorry for avoiding you for the last few months. I'm sorry for being so cold - I was just hurt. But I understand why you said and did the things you did during the games. You saved us. I know that."

My eyes gloss. It seems that I am completely open to him tonight.

"It hurt to know that I'd been in love with you for years and everything I thought you felt wasn't real. But I don't want to feel angry at you for something like that. It's unfair to you. I don't want you to care for me because you feel like you owe me anymore."

His hands hold mine like he's cupping something precious. I feel so safe and I know I probably shouldn't.

"For what it's worth," I murmur and lean in just a bit, "It wasn't all for the cameras."

I'm not thinking as clearly as I probably should when I make my move. I don't want him to think that this is some selfish act to make me forget the world around me. I don't want to use him anymore.

He's prepared though and his lips capture mine in a way that they haven't before. It's tender and pure and so impossibly warm. I feel my fears from the night slipping away.

It's just us. No cameras. No excuses. No reasons for me to pull back.

Peeta does, however. He leans his forehead to mine, and whispers, "Why'd you do that?"

"Why didn't you stop me?" I counter, embarrassed at my moment of bravery.

He regrets it. He hates me. I've made this weird for him. I try to tuck my head away to hide from him but he catches me before I can and goes in for another kiss. It burns deliciously on my lips, drawing a small sound from my lips. Peeta smiles against me and it feels impossibly good.

I lower myself to the bed, pulling him with me as I go. We lay side by side, stealing kisses, some softer than others, some more passionate. I don't know what it means and it could be quite possible that I'm just delirious from my lack of sleep over the last few months.

I can't explain my feelings to him because I don't even know them myself.

But I want to keep kissing him and that must count for something.

It all comes to a head when I pull away, satisfied, and mesmerized by the soft lines of his face. I run my index finger along his forehead, down the peak of his nose, and eventually to his swollen pink lips. He sighs and pulls me closer to him by the waist.

"Are we going to talk about this?" he asks with heavy eyes that eventually close.

Words aren't my forte. I could throw everything on the table now and potentially ruin everything we've established tonight. Or I could save it for daylight and keep him in my arms now.

Before he falls into a fit of even breathing and succumbs to sleep, I say, "We can talk in the morning. Just hold me." 

And he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a gentle reminder to go easy on me when it comes to the ~science~ of things because I wrote this five years ago!! Also, I've decided to utilize flashbacks in this fic. There are going to be parallel narratives happening in the past and the present. I hope you enjoy and don't forget to leave comments/kudos!  
> (my writing ig is @pearlsandsunsets so follow me on there to keep updated on this fic and to send ideas!)


	4. a proposal

**_Then - The Victory Tour_ **

When the daylight seeps in, it attacks my closed eyes like a burning unlike any other. I bury my head into the warm mass that lays next to me to shield myself from the day.

Today, we must endure District Ten. Neither tribute is one that I personally encountered but, at some point, it's all the same. A child is dead and I took their place.

Peeta groans next to me, facing a similar predicament. He shifts. I force my eyes open to find that he's watching me with a tiny quirk on his lips. Amusement.

"So..." he starts and twidles his thumbs like a child - it's a stark contrast from the man who detested me yesterday.

The feeling that I suspected would leave in the night, after falling asleep, hadn't. That pull I felt in the cave. It was still heavy in my stomach, weighing me down and pushing me in the direction of Peeta's lips. It's a reminder that I had wasted all of these months by ignoring him and not confronting my conflicted emotions head-on.

I shouldn't have put my feelings off out of fear. I shouldn't have put him off. And now he wants answers and I don't even know where to start.

I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Where do I even start?

"Peeta..." his name is unsure on my lips and he exhales in a way that breaks my heart. His name came out wrong and before I can pull it back, he starts to shift off my bed.

"If you regret last night, that's okay. I get it, you were hurting. I'm not mad-"

"No," I whimper, reaching out for his hand before he can get away. I'm not gonna mess this up with him again.

He looks down at our bunched up hands, confused. I'm gripping him so tightly that I start to shake. My eyes well up and I can't believe I'm about to cry over this silly thing again. Only it's not silly.

"I'm not good at saying the things I'm feeling," I whisper, "I'm much better at just doing them." Peeta settles back on the bed, keeping our laced hands resting between us.

"But I can't keep doing this and I don't think you can either, so I'm gonna try to put everything on the line, and I-" he releases my hands only to press his to my face.

"Katniss..." My name comes off his lips like a prayer. I'm grateful for it. "Whatever you need to say, it's okay."

I sigh and urge myself to just say it. I start from the beginning.

"After my father died...everything inside my mother just faded away. She wasn't a person anymore. She didn't care if her own children lived or died because she was so lost without my father. Nothing else mattered. He was her whole world. Loving him as much as she did, broke her. I've never wanted to be dependent on someone like she was." My eyes feel heavy. Peeta looks at me in such a way that makes it easier to go on.

_I don't want to lose you._

"I swore to myself that I would never...never allow myself to be like that. Or be like her. And then, you appeared and I've been confused ever since. I've never wanted to have a relationship because relationships lead to marriage and marriage leads to children and I will never, ever have children, Peeta."

Not in this world. Not ever. I couldn't bear it - the thought of losing them to the games and any child of mine was a shoo-in.

"But," my voice shakes, and his eyes swell with hope, "I can't ignore the way you make me feel. It's killed me to not be around you for the last few months. I've been so scared that I'd lose you that I have been pushing you away. I don't like it at all and I don't know what I could even possibly offer you. But I want to, at least, try."

My admission seems to do the trick. He seems to let out a sigh of relief - maybe he was anticipating something a little more earth-shattering. His soft smile graces my eyes. His long, blonde lashes curl perfectly, taking in the sun rays, and beam a golden color. Beautiful.

"We don't need to define this. Just being able to be next to you is a pleasure. I am here for you, always. If that's just as your friend, that's perfect. If it's something more, that's perfect too. I don't want you to feel like you owe me anything. Ever again," he emphasizes. It occurs to me then that he _gets it_. "Nothing more is owed, Katniss."

My heart does that thing. It flutters and beams as the sun does on a hot summer day. I'm consumed with terror - and apart of me feels like it is betraying my most sacred ideals - but his smile, in this second, takes the fear away.

"Friends don't kiss each other," I say with a tinge of cheekiness that doesn't come to me naturally. But it slips off my tongue all the same, as does the blush that finds its way to my face.

"Then we can just be Katniss and Peeta. No titles. No pressure. No promises, okay?" he says softly, moving his face in towards mine.

"That sounds perfect to me," I murmur as our lips connect. We're both shyly smiling and it's pleasant. "Can we just keep this between the two of us?"

He pauses. For a moment, I think that I've already ruined it. This tentative dynamic that we've created in the span of a couple of hours. It's so fragile, so new.

I don't want him thinking that I want this to be a secret or that I am ashamed of him - never that. I just don't think I could handle anyone else messing this up, especially when I will probably be the one doing that.

His hesitance is replaced with a slight nod and then, he whispers, "It might be a little hard to hide from Effie - you know how she is. But I'm sure we could figure something out." His straight-edged nose bumps mine as he goes in for another kiss.

"We'll be getting to Ten in a couple of hours," he says once our lips have parted, "I'll leave you to get changed and meet you at breakfast." His fingers linger on my chin and after a few more shared breaths, he leaves as quickly as he came.

I have to remind myself that this is a good thing and that I deserve this, but I can't help but feel like a creature at the bottom of a barrel. It's like I can feel Snow's snake-like eyes staring at me now and he probably is.

A cold sensation rushes down my body and it seems that the warmth Peeta brought left when he did. The urge to rid my body of this chill sends me in the direction of the shower.

I avoid the rose-scented soap like the plague.

**_Now - District Thirteen_ **

"You okay?" Gale asks me as I roll Peeta's silver pearl over my fingertips. He has been sitting next to me for nearly ten minutes, only to be met with silence.

My eyes don't quite catch his. 

Prim took it upon herself to take Willow for a walk around the district to hopefully calm her crying. For the first time in Willow's existence, she's been inconsolable to the point that has nearly driven me to madness. She's never been this distraught before.

I know I won't be able to get her shrill screams out of my head. Gale's question still lingers in the air. 

"I'll survive it like I always do," I say, somewhat bitterly. I've put off my meeting with Coin for as long as I possibly could. I'm sure he is here to escort me to that; however, he hasn't whisked me away quite yet. 

"Sorry," I mutter quietly, even though there's not a real reason for an apology, "Was there something you needed?" At long last, my gray eyes meet his. "Has Coin summoned me?"

"Actually, I got the authorization from her to go above ground and hunt. I wanted to see if you would like to join me," he says after a sigh.

This comes as a shock. I have hardly done anything that has been required of me as the Mockingjay. In anything, I've been a massive burden in this critical time of the rebellion. I have not made her job easy and, adding a baby to the mix, only makes it worse. I don't remember the last time I've been in Coin's presence.

The fresh air does sound wonderful. I have not left this tomb since going back to Twelve.

"I think I would like that," I say honestly which is met with a rare smile from Gale. 

The woods in Thirteen are not different from my woods in terms of looks. The smell is nearly the same, like pine and rain. The types of trees are the same too. But the feeling of the air is vastly different. Heavier. Darker.

The crunch under my hunting boots isn't the same. The animals aren't afraid of us either. It's unfair. I don't think I will be able to kill another being ever again - not unless it was President Snow himself.

No, this place isn't home and it never would be, no matter how hard others may try to make it. The scent, while similar, lacks ash and fire. My flames feel smothered under the canopy of these trees.

Time seems to be slipping from my grasp. 

I realize that most of the things in my life are falling from my reach.

Gale is relatively silent the entire time, just like he is when we're home. I know he has brought me out here as a kind gesture, a way to fit him back into my heart. He has to know that it will never be in the way that I know he wants it to be. He's two steps behind me, staring at the back of my head.

I find myself trudging through the forest, and it's pretty pitiful, but I manage to take aim at a deer. It's unafraid of us. Neither of us shoots it, and I'm glad. The trip is majorly uneventful. There are no words to be had between the two of us. So much has changed and I don't think we will ever be able to get back what we had.

Gale manages to kill two rabbits and a couple of squirrels before he is alerted that we need to get back to the base. Back to our tomb. 

My mind can't help but drift to Peeta and our time together during the tour. We had been so happy, so in love, almost to a fault and I never even got the words out. I failed him. I failed my family and Willow too. I don't know how to get it all back. 

I can't imagine that he will be alive for much longer. 

_What are they doing to him now?_

Snow has to know that Peeta was clueless about the plan to rebel as I was. It seeps into my mind that Peeta might believe that I left him on purpose. He probably thinks I abandoned him. 

I just want him back and I don't know how to do it. 

I'm failing Peeta by sitting around and doing nothing.

As we walk (well, I trudge) back to the open casket, I mutter my first words to Gale in an hour. "I think I'm going to agree to be the Mockingjay."

He grunts in his unimpressed way and before saying, "So you finally figured it out?"

This pulls me up short. I narrow my stormy eyes at him and ask, "Figured what out?"

"That the only way any of us is going to win this is if you finally fight."

I'm stunned at how he's phrased his words. There's thick tension between us. I feel weak, like trapped prey. And it sets me off.

"Finally?" I seeth between gritted teeth. "I have been fighting for the last year and a half. More than _anyone_ else. I didn't choose what happened to me and I-"

"You've been sitting in your room moping while the rest of us try to coax you back to life. It's selfish and so unlike you and..." He falls silent, holding himself back from saying what he truly wants to say. 

"And what? Come on, say it!" I'm burning with rage. "Fucking say it!" 

I can't keep my hands to myself at this point; I shove him hard enough for him to drop his game bag to the ground. 

"I don't know who you are anymore," the words tumble out of his mouth. "And I get that you're hurting but you fail to acknowledge that we're all hurting. And we need you to fire up the rebels and you refuse to. You spend your time throwing yourself at Finnick or trapped in your room with the baby-"

"I _do not_ throw myself at Finnick. How can you even accuse me of that? After everything? He is the only person in the world who knows how I'm feeling right now. And I wouldn't have to spend all my time with him if my best friend actually spoke to me! You've been ignoring me for over a month like I'm diseased or something-"

"Do you know how hard it is to be in a room with you and your kid? This is so difficult for me. I mean, you never even wanted kids, and now you wear her around like a prize and it makes me sick."

"Well, I'm so sorry that this is so _hard_ for you. You know, it hasn't been the easiest thing for me either. Thanks for being concerned." There's more I want to say, more I want to scream at him but words fail me. I storm off, making sure to hit him with my shoulder as I pass. I'm so fucking enraged. Before I'm too far away, he brushes my hand, as if to pull me close.

I rip my hand away, because it burns, and grimace, "Don't fucking touch me. Don't even speak to me again until you learn how to act like an actual human being."

Maybe Katniss a couple of months ago would've felt guilty for speaking to Gale like that. Maybe she would've put his feelings above all else because she didn't want to lose him. 

But he's not the same person anymore and neither am I. I can't hide from that fact anymore like I had been.

When I get back, I drop my bow off to Beetee without a word.

I've missed dinner at this point so I walk straight to Prim and my mother's compartment to find Willow perched on the floor, tossing a couple wooden blocks around. Buttercup is curled on Prim's lap while my mother tickles Willow's cheeks with dainty fingers.

Willow's eyes instantly brighten once I walk through the doors. I join them on the floor while the small girl coos.

No, I don't need Gale like I used to anymore.

My mother can sense something's wrong when she gets a good look at me. "Katniss?"

I shake my head slightly, as if to say it's not the time, and turn to Prim, "How was she today?"

Prim can tell something's wrong too, but neither of them addresses it. 

"I think she was happy to walk around the district and it gave me an excuse to explore the place. We saw Finnick on our walk too," she says with a small. She continues on about what they did during the day but my mind drifts to Finnick.

_Finnick._ Oh yes, the person who I've apparently been throwing myself at like some blithering Capitol idiot. How pathetic.

It just angers me how someone could make that assumption. He's easily one of the only people I still trust in the world. The love I have for him is purely platonic - I don't know why anyone would assume anything else. 

He saved Peeta and me more times than I can count. I owe him, but beyond that, he understands what I'm going through in a way that nobody else could. Gale's angered ramblings are purely from jealousy and if he wanted to be in my good graces, he would get over his pathetic anguish for me and be there for me. Maybe I'd return the favor.

Prim and my mother can tell that my mind is somewhere else.

Before I let any of my thoughts tumble out, I take Willow's blanket from the couch and wrap her up in it. I give the slightest nod of my head and escape to our room. The walk is short. The stale air bites at my cheeks and I wish I could be somewhere else, anywhere else. 

My woods. A train ride back to District Twelve. Something better.

I desperately want to strap Willow to my chest and escape to the woods, never to be seen again. But I can't and it's unfair.

Willow's quietly coos while she buries herself in my chest and silent sobs escape my lips.

The night ends as an interview with Ceaser and Peeta begins.

**_Then - Victory Tour_ **

I barely survive the Victory Tour.

District Eight is hard for Peeta. I've seen the footage of him mercy-killing the girl half a dozen times and countless others in my nightmares. He made sure it was quick and had whispered soothing words as she went. I take over the brunt of the speech giving that day.

District Five is difficult for him, too. Even though he didn't try to kill Foxface, who we learn is named Finch, he still feels responsible. I would tell him to not carry that guilt around, but it would be no use.

There are deaths that I never directly caused but feel shame for. In my nightmares, Rue is always there, reaching out like a bird and begging for me to save her. I never get to.

District One and Two hurt in a way that surprises me. Not only do they haunt my dreams as well, but I'm reminded that if Peeta and I had died, Cato and Clove would have taken the crown. This burden. I wonder how they would deal with our situation now. I'll never know the answer.

The people of One and Two hate us. I can't say I blame them. I hate me too.

We survive the tour through quick pecks behind curtains and small touches backstage. At night, we hold each other. Some nights we kiss. Some nights we talk. And other nights we can't bring ourselves to talk at all.

The silence is usually so loud, so suffocating, but with Peeta, it is a reprieve from the rest of the world. Our silence is my sanctuary and sometimes it makes me forget Snow's threats that morning before the Victory Tour.

As we pull out of One, Haymitch sighs despairingly and reveals that we've done a terrible job at pacifying the districts.

"It was out of our hands before the tour even began," Peeta retorts as he leans back into the couch. With my arms crossed and my eyes peeled on the wall, I think about Prim and my mother. Our families. Gale. Everyone I care about.

"Boy, Snow doesn't care. He gave you both a job to do and I'm convinced that you've failed," Haymitch falls back into a seat and takes a long swig of his liquor. "Nothing you say sounds genuine."

I want to yell at him - even though none of this is his fault. How can I be genuine while having to appease Snow?

Peeta reads my mind and says, "Maybe you should try reading the stuff that Effie writes for us." I don't miss the glare he sends in Haymitch's direction.

"Try telling that to Snow in two days at the mansion," Haymitch snaps and sets his bottle down.

_Convince me._ What will convince Snow?

"I'm open to suggestions," Peeta says, lingering on the words. He doesn't catch my gaze. I take my time looking at him. Convince me.

"We could get married." It's the first thing I've said since we pulled out of the train station. Peeta's entire body tenses.

"That's not funny," Haymitch says, brushing a straggling hair out of his face.

"I'm serious. We're going to have to do it in a couple of years anyway. Our best chance at fixing this is to do it now," I say.

Haymitch thinks about my idea for a moment before agreeing that it would be _something_. Peeta rubs his pink lips together, clasps his hands, and says, "Yeah sure, let's do it."

He's upset.

He is out of my grasp before I can catch his hand. After he exits the room, Haymitch can tell I want to chase after him.

"Kiddo," he starts, "Give him a few minutes to cool off."

There's more to be said, but all I can do is agree.

I wait approximately thirty minutes before I find myself at his bedroom door. His name rolls off my tongue like a song. I don't wait for a response before I enter. 

He sits in a chair while staring out at the window. A piping cup of tea is in his hands. Wisps of steam flow out of it. His eyes find me and he quirks his lips into the slightest smile. Maybe he doesn't absolutely hate me as I thought.

"Hey," he says gently. I close the door behind me and sit on the edge of his bed.

"I'm sorry if I caught you off guard," I say shyly. "I don't know what came over me, it was the first thing that came to my mind and I know I should've consulted you first before throwing the idea out there and-"

"Katniss," he says, cutting me off, "it's okay. It just caught me by surprise."

There's a shift in the air. He sets his tea down and kneels in front of me. His hands rest on my thighs and the twinges of this sensation cause my skin to prick. I take my lip between my teeth and rest my hands on top of his.

"I've been obsessed with the idea of marrying you since I was five so...I can't say I'm necessarily angry. I just - we've - this is all so new -"

He can't find the right way to phrase what he is trying to say. Peeta Mellark at a loss for words? That's a first. He takes a breath and tries again.

"I don't want you to hate me because of this obligation. I know this is the last thing you've ever wanted and I don't want you to hate me because a part of me is happy I get to marry you. I wish the circumstances were different and that we had more time to figure out what we are before we get thrown into the deep end. But I guess we've never had a chance to get the timing right."

His eyes are sad. And he's right. I never would want this. Even if I fall madly in love with Peeta and the world became a perfect version of itself, I would never genuinely choose marriage. It would just hurt too badly.

"The marriage is for the Capitol," I whisper and rub my index finger on the veins that prominently stick out of his, "not for us. If we can save our families, then the choice is simple. Marrying you is absolutely not the worst thing ever, and maybe, a part of me is happy too. I just wish the circumstances were different and that we had a chance to slow down."

He sighs, a bit defeated.

"But this doesn't change how I feel about you, Peeta. We can still be us and we can still make this worse. It just feels awful being forced to be with you, even if I want to. For them, for Snow, for our families, we can be who we have to be." I take his face in my hands. "But for us, we can just be ourselves." 

Relief seems to wash over him as he grips my thighs a little harder. It's not painful, but solid. A reminder that he's here and I haven't pushed him away. Not yet, at least. There's still time for me to mess this up with him.

I scoot to the edge of the bed and press my kiss to the crown of his head. My eyes shut as I inhale his sweet scent. Cinnamon and dill. It's like the smell is buried inside of him. No amount of scrubbing or Capitol soaps can ever get rid of it.

Come what may, I know I can rely on Peeta and the smell that is so characteristically him. His head finds its way buried in my chest. His hot breath hovers over my breasts, but I don't make any adjustments.

We hold each other until dinner comes and goes.

~

The proposal is filmed on Caesar Flickerman's familiar stage - one that we had not stood on since we won our games. Peeta gets down on one knee and professes his undying love for me on national television while I put on a performance for the audience's benefit.

There's swooning and sobbing from the crowd - and Caesar finds his arms wrapped tightly around us at the conclusion of the interview. Overall, the interaction is just as suffocating as I remember it to be.

Peeta's constant hold on my waist keeps me from falling over and I am happy for it. The lights, however, are brighter than I remembered them to be. Sometimes, I find, it's better to be shrouded in darkness.

Peeta's eyes glowed a marvelous blue while he had poured his heart out about our infinite love. I can't help but apply some truth to the things he said. I conclude that we're always going to be in a state of figuring it out.

The ring feels heavy on my hand.

After the interview, Peeta plants a kiss on the side of my head, only to be whisked away by Portia so she can prepare him for the party at Snow's mansion. Cinna finds his way beside me and says, "How are you doing?"

_How am I doing?_

I'm overwhelmed. I'm tired. I'm scared that everything good in my life could be taken at any moment. I feel a bit lightheaded and I want to go home.

But I find it in myself to say, "I could be worse." 

It's the truth. The inevitable hasn't happened yet. Everything I love is still intact. Everyone I hold dear to me in the world still lives and breathes.

With a knowing shrug, Cinna rests his hands on my shoulders and says, "Let's get to work."

The party at Snow's mansion is horrific. The only thing holding me to the ground is Peeta's firm hand on the small of my back. We're applauded, congratulated, and fondled by the masses - it's awful. 

I should be used to the attention by now, but I find that this spotlight burns the brightest. 

Peeta keeps his eyes trained on me. There's a worrying line that has found its way between his brows. 

When Flavius offers him a lavender-colored drink and reveals its intentions, we find ourselves escaping to the dance floor and he curses the Capitol for their ways. It's treason to say such things and I find myself squeezing his fingers tightly. His lips fall into a line.

"Wait until we get home," I mutter under bated breath and pull him closer. Peeta's always been bold, but he has never spoken such rebellious things that could so easily fall upon prying ears.

The party seems to come to a close when Snow makes his way to the balcony. He gives us a congratulatory speech, beckons the fireworks, and once everyone's eyes have turned, besides Peeta and I, he gives the slightest shake of his head. 

We failed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gale's an asshole and i don't like him so yeah. if you do, this prob isn't the fic for you asdkfjahdslfkjh. anyways i hope you enjoyed! pls leave comments so i can see what you guys think so far! will post the next chapter soon <3


	5. live in it forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in the present, katniss is ~going thru it~ (rip).  
> in the past, she is still ~going thru it~ HOWEVER, it gets spicy. basically, the author makes use of her "mature" warning...

_****_ ****

**_Now - District Thirteen_ **

There's a strangled mewl that escapes my lips when his gaunt face reaches my eyes. His skin is sallow yellow, dying from a lack of fresh air, and bruised slightly from beatings that he is sure to be having. And his eyes, his glittery blue eyes that he shares with our child have lost their brightness. Almost like the color, which I adore so deeply, has been drained from him.

With every word that escapes his tortured lips, he gives a slight shake of his head. His steady fingers which I know so well twitch at the sound of Caeser's voice. The tears are heavy in his colorless eyes.

It's haunting.

I cover Willow's head as best I can to shield her from the screen, but she still sees it. She reaches out and gives the smallest whimper before finding her head back in my chest to quietly cry.

I scramble for the power button but it's no use. If there was a way to turn it off, I don't think I was given that option.

I want to cry, but I find that there are no more tears. I've used them all up. All I can do is stare at the person I love so much and know that there's little to nothing that I can do to save him. 

_I've failed you._

Finnick rushes into the room, rope in hand, as the interview reaches its conclusion. 

"Katniss," he murmurs hesitantly, with hands extended to me. The baby in my arms begins to cry. For what reason, I'm not too sure. She only cries when absolutely necessary, a trait that I think she's picked up from me.

Peeta says his concluding message, a tear slips from his dying eyes, and my heart cracks.

Finnick pulls me into his arms, capturing Willow in between us.

"What are they doing to him?" I whimper in his chest as I feel Willow's head shift upwards. Finnick holds us close and I'm grateful for it. He seems to be the only one concerned about us.

"I don't know," he says honestly. His voice shakes. I assume that he's only recently woken up, even though it is close to midnight. "Pretend you didn't see it."

I pull away with a question full in my eyes. 

"What?"

"I don't trust these people," he says quickly, almost as if he believes the room to be bugged with listening devices. "Nobody else has been here, right? I mean, why would that be? They must think you're close to agreeing with them about being the Mockingjay, or else someone would've come here to comfort you..."

"What does that even mean?"

"I don't think they can afford for you to have any setbacks. They need you." He takes Willow out of my arms and sits on the bed.

I pace.

"Tell me about it," I say, "I'm not Katniss anymore. I'm-"

 _A piece in their game._ Peeta's words. From another time. From a world ago.

"The Mockingjay. Their savior," Finnick says, "They don't care about you and you know it. But..." 

He stops himself like he's being too honest. My heart jumps as I watch him watch Willow. He's thinking about Annie.

"Annie wanted kids," he says simply after a long pause. "I was always so against it because we could never. Not in this world. Especially when they would be taken from us."

My lip trembles the slightest bit as I join him on my bed. I find his rope in my hands as I begin to tie knots.

"She would be a great mother," he says solemnly.

"Peeta would've been a great father." The sadness is thick in my voice. It suffocates me. I've lost him. I will never get to tell him how I felt. He will never be able to meet our Willow. 

Finnick seems to sense my thoughts and says, "He's not gone yet, Katniss. He's strong and once this war is over-"

"This war will _never_ be over. And how can you say he's strong enough to survive this when he looks..." I feel sick. "Snow will kill him the moment I become the Mockingjay. He's taunting me with him and I can't do it when he will suffer. I can't..." I drop the poorly built knot to the ground and bury my hands in my face. "He's strong but...he's not strong like that."

Peeta's strength comes from his words; his ability to move people, not when he's a prisoner of war and can't breathe during an interview. He looks so weak, so scared, and I would give anything to end his suffering.

"Katniss...I don't want to be someone who pushes you into making decisions anymore. You've suffered too much and lost even more, but I think the only way we can save the people we love is if you help the rebels."

This catches my attention. Finnick has been so anti-District Thirteen that it shocks me.

I pick my head up from my hands and stare at him.

"I don't trust them, and I probably never will, but the only way this war can end is if you rally behind them."

The next morning I lay out my conditions. 

"Firstly," I start in front of Coin and Plutarch, "Willow will stay out of any propaganda that is to be filmed. I will not have her involved in any of this and I refuse to give Snow the satisfaction of ever seeing her face." This causes Plutarch to stir in his seat. I don't know why he is surprised by this.

"Secondly, the Victors, Peeta Mellark, Annie Cresta, and Johanna Mason, will be rescued at the earliest opportunity." This sentiment starts an uproar of debate between the three of us. I use every ounce of civility in me to make a convincing argument that reaches the conclusion that if the opportunity arises, the Victors may be rescued. 

I suppose that this is better than nothing.

We continue over small things like Buttercup and my ability to hunt above ground.

A few more soldiers trickle in; among them are my past allies. Gale, who cannot meet my eyes after our fight in the woods, and Haymitch, who sends a small nod my way as an olive branch. I hate him and I think a part of me will go on hating him for a while, but it's a start. I give him a reassuring nod as well; maybe it's my way of showing him that our relationship is not doomed.

It is decided that I will be featured in propos; a series of propaganda to convince districts to join the rebel's cause. Tomorrow, I will be shipped off to District Eight where they received heavy bombings and hundreds of casualties. I agreed to be the Mockingjay; therefore, they can send me anywhere at any time and I will have no choice in the matter.

By the conclusion of the meeting, I take notice that Finnick was right.

Nobody mentions Peeta's interview.

~

Finnick, Prim, my mother, and Willow join me at the Hangar Bay the next morning to see me off.

I spent the entire evening prior rocking Willow; not because she was reckless or cranky, but because I was terrified of letting her go. The mission today is not dangerous, at least, I'm told that Coin wouldn't approve it if I was in any real danger. Finnick had whispered earlier that Coin couldn't lose her best chess piece. 

I couldn't agree more.

Gale, Boggs, and a few more soldiers that I have not yet attached names to, file into the hovercraft. My family and Finnick linger for a moment.

"I have to go now, Flower," I tell her in my gentlest of tones, "I will see you tonight. I love you." It's a promise. My departing words are spoken with my nose pressed flush against her warm, downy head. Finnick takes her from my arms.

"I'm on babysitting duty," he says kindly in acknowledgment of the arrangement he made with Prim earlier. Willow gazes at me, not quite sure of what's going on, but not too frustrated with being in Finnick's arms either. She trusts him like she trusts Prim and my mother. 

I hope she trusts Peeta like that if she ever gets to meet him.

Prim and my mother give me some reassuring words that I cling to internally, but my eyes never leave Willow's. She's locked on me. I wish I knew what she was thinking in her little head. 

I give them a final wave and join the rest of my team on the hovercraft. The doors close, trapping me from my family. 

As the hovercraft takes off, I find that the steady lulling of the nearly silent engine pulls me away. My limbs are heavy and my eyes find themselves closing; I'm uncharacteristically tired. I let it happen though. And I dream. 

It must be the first time I've dreamed properly in years; but maybe, I couldn't even call it a dream. It was more like glimpses of a perfect future - one that I don't think I will ever see.

Peeta and I would raise Willow in District Twelve - at least, what was left of it. I'd bring her to the woods with me when she's old enough. I'd teach her to hunt and Peeta would teach her to paint and to bake. We'd tell her every day just how much we love her. Peeta would spoiler her rotten and I'd tell him that it would make her a brat; we'd figure it out though. 

We'd raise her to not be afraid. We'd make sure she never knew what it meant to be hungry.

Peeta and I would tuck her in every night, kiss her forehead, and she'd fall into a deep sleep, where she would never have nightmares.

We'd live without games; without fear. We would love unconditionally and never have to worry about someone taking Willow away from us.

_The perfect life._

"Katniss, we're here," Boggs whispers, rousing me from my nap. For the first time since I got here, I get a good look at him. He has been like the designated "Katniss babysitter" over the last month and a half. In my spare thinking time, I ponder on how that must make him feel as I doubt this is the life he ever wanted for himself.

Commander Paylor, District Eight's leader, greets us just outside the hovercraft and has a brief exchange with Boggs about my condition. The _condition_ being mental stability, I assume.

Paylor leads us to what seems like a makeshift hospital. The death of rotting flesh is very present once we enter a corridor. Rows of bodies are lined up. Flies swarm above the covered corpses; I cover my nose as my stomach lurches. I bury the vomit that threatens to spill out.

Paylor pulls back a plastic curtain to reveal what is left of this district. Burned children, parents, and elders whimper in pain or sob over their dying loved ones. The ones who are seemingly unhurt flit between clusters of people, trying their best to aid one another. The rest are just lucky their wounds haven't killed them yet. Or maybe that makes them unlucky. 

It reminds me of my decision after the quell. I had grabbed a syringe with the intention of ending Peeta's life. To end his life and then take my own.

_Wasn't that the same thing as this?_

The scene before me is sickening. My mother would be horrified at the lack of sterilization and yellow gauss. If the injuries weren't going to kill these people, infection definitely would. My stomach lurches again for the second time today.

_I don't want to be here. I don't want to be the Mockingjay._

"Don't film me," I say quickly to Cressida, dipping my head away in fear. "I can't help them." 

_I really can't. I'm not who they need them to be._

Her hand delicately finds itself on my shoulder and a haunting shiver ripples up my spine. "Just let them see your face."

All this time, I've regarded myself as a piece - and I know that I am - but in their eyes, I'm something separate from myself. I'm a symbol of hope, something that I've never understood. I think about Willow and how her existence is _my hope._ Without that hope, without her, I don't know who I would be. They need me as I need her. This thought is what urges me to walk forward and reveal myself. 

At first, they don't notice me. A tiny voice says my name and, like wildfire, they all begin to silence themselves when they see me.

I know there are cameras on me; I choose to ignore them as best I can.

"Katniss?" A young girl asks. Her voice is so shaky and her face is etched with shock. "Why are you here?"

"I came to see you," I say honestly. Another voice beckons me.

"What about the baby?" An elderly woman, covered from head to toe in cuts and burns, asks. Not wanting to lie, I say with ease, "She's safe and she's beautiful." The woman smiles as another voice rises from the middle of the crowd.

"Are you here to fight with us, Katniss?" A young boy asks with a broken arm and a bloodied bandage wrapped around his head. It occurs to me that he can't be much younger than me. Maybe three or four years at most. 

The words come easily. 

"I am. I will."

~

The fire comes later. It burns down the hospital and nearly brings me to my knees. I probably would have thrown myself into it had Gale not pulled me from the flames.

"Katniss! What do you want to say?" Cressida asks and points at the camera on Pollux's head. This is it. This is the thing we came here to do. 

I'm still on a stage. 

I'm still performing. 

"This is Katniss Everdeen, standing in the heart of District 8, where the Capitol just bombed a hospital. Full of unarmed men, women, and children. There will be no survivors." 

I choke on the bile which has become a resident at the back of my throat. I point to the burning flames and black death clouds that plume into the sky. Fiery words full of vengeance and hatred tumble out of my mouth. I'm cruelly inspired by the all too familiar scent of burning flesh and _death_. I can only think of my district's destruction and my father's death.

"I have a message for President Snow." My voice is strong but my legs are quivering. If I can not deliver my next words correctly, I will tumble to the ground and be unable to stand again on my own. I swallow.

"Fire is catching. And if we burn, you burn with us!" 

After the cameras have cut, my legs do give out. The stench is so overwhelming that I end up vomiting up my meager breakfast up too. Pitiful looks are sent in my direction but no one moves to do anything. We're all a little paralyzed by shock.

I am able to stand up later when Gale gives me a hand, to which I quickly brush off. 

The ride back to District Thirteen is silent. 

I am unable to dream.

_****_ ****

**_Then - Victory Tour_ **

Peeta's hand clutches mine the entire way back to the train. It stays in mine even when we've made it back to my room. What is there even to say?

We've failed our families and I would not be surprised if Snow had an accident staged before we even get back. 

I feel like my reaction should be different to this news, but it's not. Was I subconsciously expecting us to fail?

Peeta's eyes can't find mine. I reach out to him, taking his face between my fingers and pressing them gently into his cheeks. He murmurs an apology as if any of this was his fault. I won't hear it though.

I lay my lips on his, finding that this touch nearly brings me to my knees. There are tears behind my eyes, but don't fall. His hands find my face and he pushes his lips into mine harder. The touch brings a shaking moan from the back of my throat. 

If this were any other time or any other day, I probably would've been shy about what we were doing.

There is nothing shy about how our carefully crafted clothes have ended up on the floor.

~

He stays rooted inside of me, gently rocking even as the aftershocks of his relief seem to paralyze us both.

I twist my head to the side and he lowers his torso to my back, kissing my chin and whispering a litany of senseless words. Every nerve ending on my body is burning. His weighted heat does nothing to quell this fire inside of me.

I clench down on his cock, bringing a moan to my lips. At this small but effective adjustment, he filthily curses into my mouth.

The way we breathe into each other is like a song.

I don't ever want him to move from this spot. After all the yearning I've been doing for the past few months, needing him, wanting him, I'd think that the hunger would dissipate. I had assumed that my hunger would be satisfied and life would go on as usual.

Now, in this explosive moment, I realize that my hunger for him will never go away. I will always be hungry for this fire.

He shifts slightly, making me think that he's going to pull out, and I nearly shout at him.

"No, please stay inside me," I beg softly and squeeze his fingers.

"Fuck," he cusses and thrusts his sensitive cock back inside of me. I capture his lips.

Tears of ecstasy stream down my face. I must look like a wild creature. I feel like a wild animal.

"Feels so good." The sound leaving my lips doesn't sound like my voice at all. It's a mixture of a cry and a stutter. Fretfully, I pull his swollen lips in between my teeth. My eyes roll in the back of my head as he moves my throat, leaving lavender-colored kisses on the junction of my neck. The massage his lips leave on me will serve as temporary tattoos, reminding me of this moment.

He moves further down my back, pulling out, before gently thrusting it back inside of me. It's slow. His torturous rocking inside of me brings me back to the present.

Peeta's a bit delirious when he murmurs, "So beautiful," into my lower back. Without another word, he grabs my hips and flips me over. A small squeak escapes me.

His dilated pupils find mine. Wide and full of adoration. He's slightly flushed pink in the cheeks and his golden curls are tousled about. I'm about to pull him up to me, but he spreads my thighs in one fluid motion and takes my clit into his mouth.

I let out a small shriek as his tongue puts spectacular pressure on me and have to clamp my hand over my mouth to avoid waking up everyone else on the train. His soft hands dig painfully into my thighs. I could cry from that alone. Some part of me prays for his fingers to leave purple bruises on me to look at tomorrow.

I cry his name as quietly as possible and bury my fingers into his hair.

_I wish I could keep him here forever._

He brings me to my peak once again. His name flows off my lips in a quick, breathless squeak as I clamp my eyes shut; there are explosions behind my eyelids. Warmth and every touch he has given me tonight hovers on my skin and circulates me in this bed.

Maybe it's my delirious state and maybe it's because he is so skilled with that tongue but my mind releases a thought.

_I'm in love with this man._

As quickly as the thought comes, I bury it deep and don't plan on spewing it out ever again. Before I open my eyes, he moves from the juncture between my legs and tilts my lips to his. He moans into my mouth and murmurs my name like a prayer. I rest my hands at the base of his neck, playing with the slightly damp curls in my reach.

Our lips separate but our noses don't dare to. We take in each other's air.

My eyes meet his hazy blue ones. We bear our entire souls to the other. I can tell he wants to say something to me; maybe declare his love for me, or attempt to convince me that we will survive this, but for the first time, he doesn't try. 

I'm glad for it.

I don't think I could deal with the repercussions of that conversation.

I'm usually not the person with the words - that's him - but the perfect thing comes to me. For the first time ever, I murmur into him, "I want to freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever." It's something he would say, I just know it. I've revealed too much - I've poured too much out of the depths of my soul. But he captures the words and savors them.

His eyes glow as he brushes away the stray tear that trickled down my cheek. I hadn't even realized I was crying.

The emotions are too powerful, too strong. I know I won't ever feel this way about anyone or anything else ever again. Just Peeta. Only Peeta.

He doesn't say anything; it's so uncharacteristic of him to not say what he's thinking. Instead, he nuzzles his nose into my cheek and slowly settles next to me. Before I can protest his sudden departure from my body, he pulls my chest to his, tangles his leg with mine, and encircles me in his arms. With one arm under us as a pillow, he whispers, "We're going to be okay, Katniss."

I want to believe it. With everything I can give, I want to believe that somehow we will be okay. But, with the revelation that I feel so intensely about this person before me, I realize how easily he, too, could be ripped from me.

Before I succumb to sleep, I bury my head in the crook of his next as he protects me from the rest of the world. Since my father died and I stopped trusting my mother, no one else's arms have made me feel this safe. I reflect on my thoughts from our time in the cave. This young thought had never been truer. Nobody else's arms would ever make me feel this safe again.

_Just Peeta. Only Peeta._

~

For the longest time, I could never understand anyone's reasoning for having children. In the Seam, it always seemed like families would have hoards and hoards of children. Hazelle has four children. My mother may have had more had my father not been blown to bits.

After he died, I could never imagine the appeal of choosing to have children when they could just be taken from you.

But I've been a fool.

Sex, lust, love; that is the only reprieve from this dark place. Giving someone everything you have to offer, passing over your entire being, bearing your soul to the person you love. That means _everything._

And it's not like the Capitol hands out means of birth control to the inferior people of the districts. It would just limit their breeding stock.

The Capitol has always been cruel in my eyes, but after last night, it hits me just how deeply that cruelty goes. Starve people of food and they turn to the only means of hunger they can quench. The fleeting attraction of a stranger. The lust-filled eyes of a longtime friend. The love of a partner.

I understand it from all sides now.

As the light pours into my room and the golden morning light catches Peeta's nearly translucent eyelashes, my heart fills with an indescribable warmth that illuminates my soul.

It would be cliche to say that he is my other half or that I'd been waiting my entire life for him to complete me. I was complete before him; however, I've never been as alive and aware as I am now.

I understand that if I lost him, I would fade away. Hide in my room like a hermit and never come out ever again. I can't fault my mother. I can't be angry with her like I had been for the longest time. I get it now.

I have never wanted children. Never will want children. But I can't be angry with the people in the districts who have them anymore. If I could have a singular moment of pure and untainted peace with the person I loved, I would do _anything._

No, I will never bear his children.

I will not give Snow the satisfaction of ripping them away from me. From us.

Peeta startles me with a sharp inhale. I run my finger along his jaw as he shifts his position. When his eyes flutter open like wisps of butterfly wings, a smile grazes my face. I pepper a dozen light kisses all over his face while he runs his warm hands on the plains of my back.

I'm enthralled by the sound my lips make when they're in contact with his skin.

It's euphoric.

"Good morning," I murmur once my assault has concluded. I've straddled his waist and positioned myself so my bare breasts are in direct contact with his chest. I run my fingers over his neck and ears and lips and everywhere I can get my hands on.

"Good morning indeed," he chuckles. It's so pure and genuine. I could listen to that sound for the rest of my life.

"Last night was..." he lingers.

"Nice," I say simply. Unlike yesterday, words have once again been lost on me.

"Nice? Just nice?" he says with a wavering expression, "I was thinking something more along the lines of an earth-shattering, gloriously sensational picture of romance!" As he says this, he flips me on my back and grips my waist lightly. His breath tickles my skin and I giggle.

"I am truly offended," Peeta says, with a hint of playfulness laced in his serious tone. "Do I need to remind you of just how nice I can be?" His fingers dance across the delicate skin of my stomach, positioned like he is ready to attack me.

I can tell he is about to tickle me, so before I can give him the satisfaction of seeing me wither under him, I push him playfully and laugh, "You know I'm not good with my words!" This doesn't seem to matter to him. He starts to tickle me and then pepper kisses all over my eyelids.

I laugh and try to push him away but it's no use. Cheery tears spring to my eyes and, after a small bout of begging, he stops only to press his lips to my forehead. He takes my face in his hands, similarly to how he did last night, and holds me there.

"I don't know what I'm gonna do when we get home and you're not here next to me," he whispers and brushes a strand of hair out of my face. _How can his eyes be that blue?_ Every time I stare into his eyes, I feel like I'm looking out into the oceans of District Four. Or the blue waters of my father's lake.

"I'm sure we'll figure something out," I say into his lips. "Besides, I don't think it would make sense to anyone if I lived in a separate house from my _husband._ Rumors are a nasty thing."

He plays with my hair and says, "I don't want to force you into my house. Like I said before, we can lead our own lives when we're home if that's what you wish-"

"You think I'll be able to be away from you after last night? You're in for it if you think I won't be forcing my way into your home over the next few months."

It's insatiable. My hunger for him.

"My mother will take a little warming up to the idea," I say. He covers his eyes with a hand and cringes, "I forgot all about your mother! She's going to be furious with us."

I bite my lip and ponder on my mother's reaction. After a few lingering seconds, I come to a simple conclusion, "Peeta, I think she understands. The things we have to do anyway. Of course, I've never explicitly told her, but she understands."

At least I hope she does.

I finally understand _her._ Hopefully, she understands the sacrifices I have made to protect her.

"Okay," he brushes my locks, "I just want you to promise me that, if you feel uncomfortable with this or me at any time, you'll let me know. We need to communicate or we will surely get swept up and end up hating each other." I quirk my brows at his choice of words until he continues, "Well I could never hate you, but I'm sure you could find a dozen reasons to hate me-"

I cut him off with a kiss. He pulls away to continue his confusing sentiment, but I keep his naked body clamped to mine.

"Don't say things like that," I murmur and brush his hair away from his eyes. "If you keep saying things like that, you're absolutely going to scare me away."

There is an uncharacteristic chuckle that escapes my lips after I say this, but he doesn't seem to catch that I'm joking.

"You're right," he says as he rolls off of me, "You're right. I'm just scared. I really want this to work out. If there need to be boundaries or expectations from each other, I think we should lay them out on the table now."

I ponder this, quickly jotting down an imaginary list in my head of all the things I'm still going to do, regardless of what bed I sleep in and whose arms I lay in.

"Well," I start, "I'm going to go hunting with Gale on Sundays and trade with Sae at the Hob. I'll probably spend my time with Prim when she's not at school and eat dinner with my family. Somedays I might stay in the woods all day or spend time with Madge. Do you mean stuff like that?"

He nods his head, slightly into the pillow, "Yeah. Sorry, I just - we haven't really been around each other when we're home. I don't know what you like to do."

I lay on my side, staring into his eyes, and ask curiously, "What are you going to do?"

"I'll take over shifts at the bakery - being a Victor doesn't excuse me from my chores according to my mother -" at the mention of that witch, I internally cringe, "and paint in the evenings. I have to warn you; I do have a nasty habit of anxiety baking so you'll have to forgive me if it smells like a bakery 24/7."

"You know, that doesn't sound all that terrible at all," I say gently and he rests his hand on my hip. "And what will we do together?"

He ponders this for a moment.

"I guess we'd have mornings like this." For emphasis, he digs his fingers into the thick part of my hip and kisses my cheek. "Some mornings I'd get up early, but I'm sure there would be some days that you did too. But on the days where it was just us, we would make breakfast together. I'd insist on painting you every day -"

"You wouldn't get sick of painting me every day?" I teased, pressing my nose into his side.

"No. Never," the words are lovely on his tongue, "On some nights we could have dinner with Haymitch, on others with your mother and Prim. I would teach you how to bake if you wanted to learn." He pauses, thinking about it with a warm smile on his face. Something about it is sad though; I can't put my finger on it.

I suppose that it's my turn now.

"I would take you to my woods," I whisper sweetly, "only if you wanted to go. There's a lake too. My father taught me how to swim when I was young."

"Do you go there often?"

"No, I've only gone a handful of times since he died. It's kind of my father and I's special place. I've never shared it with anybody else, " _I've never shared it with Gale_ , "But...I think he'd be okay with me taking you to see it."

"I would love nothing more," he murmurs and presses a kiss to my temple. 

"And at night," I whisper, "we would lay like this and try to forget."

I've said these words before. On another train, on another way home. At the time, the words had hurt him so deeply. So intensely. 

But now they've taken a different meaning. No, I'm not trying to forget us. We would forget everything that wasn't us.

The air between our bodies shifts just slightly before he says, "We'd have to."

At this point, I think we've recognized that we'll never be safe in Twelve. We never have been. 

I don't say it out loud, but we can't stay there. 

As Peeta and I hold each other until we've pulled into the train station, I formulate my plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! i wanted to give you a little soft everlark content because it will probably be a while before it happens again. let me know what you think!! also i might take a little longer to update the next chapter bc it'll be a big one.


	6. a (sort of) homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things happen and characters talk abt stuff

****

**Then - District Twelve**

Making a plan and executing it are two very different things.

Upon our arrival to Twelve, the bustling camera crews and abundant crowds surrounding my family made it difficult to shout my fears at them.

 _Snow is going to kill us all,_ I wanted to tell Prim and my mother. But now was not the time. I savored the fact that, at least, they were still alive.

In a few weeks, that may not be the case. 

We need to be gone before it can get to that point. 

We are going to have to be extremely careful with the information we reveal from now on. There's no doubt that Snow will be watching my every move. Nothing can be said in our homes ever again. Peeta's rebellious words from the night before linger. It was foolish. Stupid. Never again will we be that naive.

Only my mother and Prim greet me at the train station. Gale and the gaggle of Hawthornes are not to be seen. I can't imagine that he would show up, especially after the announcement of my engagement to Peeta. 

I don't fret about it now; I don't think I will necessarily worry about it ever.

Peeta is whisked into a hug by his father and brothers while his mother lingers to the side, unable to hide her distaste. My own mother gives me a look that suggests confusion with an underlying bit of understanding.

She murmurs an _I love you_ in my ear before rubbing small circles into my back. Her arms are warm. For a moment, I feel safe again. I could collapse to the ground, and I probably would have, if it weren't for the strangers surrounding us.

Eventually, the crowd disperses and the five of us - Haymitch, Peeta, Prim, my mother, and I - make our way back to the Victors Village. Our feet crunch under the melting snow. It's the only sound that is made. 

Our path diverges from Haymitch as he - in his tipsy stupor - stumbles to his front door before opening it and haphazardly slamming it shut. Peeta holds back, contemplating going inside my house with Prim and my mother. 

"Actually," I say hesitantly, gently lifting my hand to rest it on my chest, "Would it be okay if I talked to my mother alone?"

He looks anything but upset. He brushes the end of my braid with his fingertips and steps away.

"Peeta," my mother says. Their eyes connect. "You're welcome to join us for dinner tonight."

My heart nearly implodes. Peeta dips his head, I think a bit in confusion, and then - in his self-deprecating way - he smiles. "Yes, I think I will. I'll bring some bread."

As he leaves, I watch his gait; no one would assume that he'd lost his leg. We hardly talk about it, but when we do, I can tell he's embarrassed or ashamed or something that he just shouldn't be. 

I'll mention it the next time we talk, or the next time I'm willing to pour my heart out.

My mind slips into the night before; the warmth, the stillness, the sloppiness, and the perfection within that sloppiness. My face turns the slightest rouge, something I could easily blame on the cold. For a moment, I allow myself this pleasure, forgetting that my family is doomed and that Snow would rain hell upon us soon. 

My mother's voice rips me from my daydream.

"Katniss, can we talk?" Her voice isn't angry, but concerned. Prim has gone inside.

I nod slightly and whisper, "Let's take a walk."

I tell her as much as I can with a heavy emphasis on the fact that _we need to go._

~

Dinner is peaceful.

Prim asks about the other districts, particularly Four, with its wide waters and sandy beaches. Peeta is able to answer her questions with practiced precision - he will always be better at conveying his thoughts so eloquently. My mother keeps her conversation with Peeta simple and kind. 

My nerves have inhibited my ability to say much, especially when I know that Snow could be listening to us right now.

Dinner ends as quickly as it begins. After our stomachs are full and the table is clean, my mother and Prim dip their heads in an appreciative nod and leave. Peeta makes his way to the front door.

I tug on his hand and whisper, "I think I'm going to stay here tonight."

His smile is soft as he squeezes some warmth into my hand. His lips find my forehead and linger there. I am unbelievably grateful for him and this feeling. I forget everything.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he murmurs, lips still touching that space between my brows.

"Maybe you could draw me tomorrow," I say quietly, forgetting my plan to spend tomorrow's day planning our escape. 

"I'm going to head to the bakery in the morning, but I will meet you after," he says gently. Of course, being a Victor doesn't excuse him from his chores. 

My heartstrings tug as he walks out my front door and into the dark winter night.

~

It's Sunday.

It's Gale's singular day of freedom from the mines. Maybe it was from the guilt that came upon waking or the fact that I hadn't sought him out yesterday evening, but I couldn't hold off this conversation anymore. It was only fair to warn him of Snow's unspoken threat.

As I tied my boots, shoved my arms through my father's hunting jacket, and walked to the fence, I could not hide the shame that resonated deep within me. Gale hadn't even been a thought during the Victory Tour. My best friend, my only friend for so long, had not been on my mind. I know it's unfair and that he doesn't deserve it. 

Everything was fractured when Peeta and I came home from the games. I don't think it will ever be the same and that hurts.

It's guilt that carries me to our spot in the woods and places me in front of him. I don't hesitate to hug him, only to find that his touch is cold.

"I didn't see you yesterday," I state once I pull away.

"Figured you had enough people there to greet you as it is." His tone lacks any emotion, any empathy. I know I shouldn't be surprised; days of working in those mines do that to a person, but still, it hurts. 

There's a heavy silence that lingers. It's awkward and I don't know what to say. Being in his presence is like deactivating a bomb. I hate that this is what we've become.

"If I'm gonna be honest, I didn't expect you to be here today. Some people actually have to work to survive, so if you don't mind, I'm going to hunt." He turns his back and begins walking away. It sets me off.

"That's unfair, you ass!" I rush in front of him, stepping directly into his path. "You don't understand the lengths I've gone to keep you all alive, so the least you could do it thank me." The words come off rotten and bitchy, but I don't care. He's being unfair.

He sighs and then, "Thank you, _Katniss._ Now, can you get out of my way?" Before I can move, he steps away.

"We need to leave," I say quickly. "Go into the woods like we always talked about. Things are about to get really bad here and I don't want you to get caught in the middle of it." This catches his attention; finally, something I say pulls him up short.

"What did you see?" His back is still to me.

"Riots. Fires. People fighting in the streets. Peacekeepers gunning them down. All I know is that we need to leave before it gets bad here-"

"Who's joining us?" He faces me now, but I can't catch his eye.

"You, me, my family, yours," I swallow, knowing that he won't be happy about the other additions to our troupe. "Peeta and Haymitch."

I can feel his brows knit together in an unsatisfied way. I still can't meet his eyes. "I didn't realize our party was going to be that big. What does your _fiancé_ think of all this?"

There it is.

"I haven't talked to Peeta yet. We haven't had a moment alone since getting back." I feel like I've revealed too much too fast. His tone and the way he's looking at me brings a chill down my spine. For the faintest moment, I regret telling him any of this. Deep down, I know I could never leave Gale, or Hazelle and the kids. Maybe I did this more for their sake than his.

"I should go," I mutter under my breath, knowing that nothing positive can come from any further conversation. I begin to back away, only to stumble right into a tree. Gale steps in front of me, locking me into this space, pinning me between him and the tree.

He brings his cool hand, calloused from long hours in the mines, to my cheek and presses his lips to mine. It all happens so fast. Due to my state of shock, I weakly shove him away, but the angle is all wrong. I get my bearings and strongly shove him away. He earns a smack to the face. My hand stings.

"Fuck you," I grimace; the words are biting and wicked, but I hardly find it in me to care. "I'm sorry that you felt like I owed you something after the games, but I didn't. And I still don't. I'm tired of feeling guilty. I'm truly sorry that things happened the way they did, but they did. You're my best friend, and maybe if the scenario was different, we could've been something else. But that's not the case. Peeta is apart of my life and he's never going away. Coming home with all the expectations wasn't something I was anticipating and adding your unnecessary anguish towards me didn't help anything either. I just wanted to talk to you or have my best friend back, but I guess that's too difficult an ask. I can live with you hating me forever. Fine. We don't have to be friends, I don't care anymore. I just don't want to see you or your family dead at my hand." 

He's still too close. Grey stares into grey. Gale appears shocked with himself. His face is no longer stoic, but sad and guilt-ridden. Good. I hope he feels guilty for basically assaulting me against a tree. 

"If I knew how this would all play out, I wouldn't have left that arena." It's the truth. If I was dead, everyone would be safe. I'm furious with him and I know there are more cruelties to reveal. There's more fire in my soul to pour out, but I don't find it in myself to say anything else.

"Katniss," he starts as I walk away. It sounds like there's an apology on his tongue. But I don't turn back to him. " _Catnip._ "

I don't turn around.

**Now - District Thirteen**

_"I miss you," he whispers with a voice as soft as silk and as sweet as honey. His heart beats rapidly under my head. I can't bring myself to open my eyes._

He won't be there when I do.

So instead, I sink further into this moment, further into his arms, and brace myself for the inevitability of waking. For the first time ever, I don't want to wake up from this nightmare. I want to stay here forever. I don't think I could bear opening my eyes to find him a world away.

_"I miss you too," I tell him, clutching his shirt in my fists, "More than you could ever know."_

I do wake though. It's not a choice I consciously make; however, my body becomes alive again because Willow's cries erupt through the air, sending my maternal impulses into overdrive. My instinct to protect her causes me to throw my body off the bed before my eyes have even properly adjusted to the darkness.

"Flower?" I question as I scoop her up in my arms. I sway her gently, humming the Valley Song and running my finger over her cheek. Once she feels my skin on hers, her screeching comes to a halt, but her shivering doesn't.

After five minutes of vigorous trembling, I take off our shirts and press her body to mine, hoping that our body heat will help her. It helps, but not by much.

Willow falls asleep soon after, but I can't bring myself to follow her there. I watch the rise and fall of her chest for the rest of the night. Her breath is hot and her hair sticks in a dozen different directions. I swirl my finger over the expanse of her back.

The morning comes too soon.

There are things to do and places to be and meetings to have, but I can't bring myself to move from this spot. I wait for Willow to open her eyes again before I prepare us for the day. I don't plan to let her out of my sight.

That's how the rest of the day goes. Willow is strapped to my chest as I make my way around the district: at breakfast where Finnick sits in silence across from me. There's not much to say. She stays there even when I go to Command.

I'm met with silence upon my entry to the meeting. Coin's eyes narrow at the girl in my arms, Plutarch sighs the slightest bit and Haymitch swallows the lump in his throat. I wonder if he can still feel my claws sunk in his cheeks - he knows the lengths I will go. 

The dream and the events that led up to this moment leave no space for me to bend to Coin's will. I'm not in the mood.

"Miss Everdeen," she starts after a long moment of tension. "It wasn't apart of our deal to have your child here. She will disrupt-" 

"She won't," I snap with finality. I will win this argument today. "Either you let me keep her here or I will leave. I won't get to see her -"

"Fine," Coin says as she lifts her hand. Cutting me off, silencing me.

They begin to ramble about the status of the districts and the willingness to join our cause. Overall, it seems to be going pretty great, especially after District Eight. But then Plutarch turns to me.

"I think it would be in our best interest to shoot some propos in District Twelve. We should have done so when we sent you back a few weeks ago, but I'll be honest, I hadn't thought it would be a good idea at the time. Nobody really knows about what the Capitol did to your district and if others saw what we're up against, they will be more willing to join our fight." This punches me in the gut, but I can't say I am surprised. Plutarch makes a convincing argument. I could put up a fight about it, but Willow stirs and I think on everything that could be taken if I refuse to see Twelve. 

It's her stirring warmth in my arms that brings me to nod my head.

So I find myself back in the clutches of my home. The grey has settled to the earth, creating a distinct barrier between my district and the cerulean sky. The contrast is stark and no matter how many times I see it, the shock won't go away. I don't think it ever will.

My stomach nearly fails me and my small breakfast almost makes a reappearance.

Gale gives a speech about that night when words fail me (as they always do.)

For a moment, I find my heart reaching out to comfort him. I don't. But I feel the pain in his voice, in the way it shutters and constricts. It's the most emotion I've heard from him in weeks. Maybe months. I can't really remember; our relationship hasn't been stable in over a year. I yearn for what we once had, knowing that it's in ruins. There's a massive space in my heart that has been filled up by Willow and Peeta and there isn't enough room for him anymore.

I still miss it though, no matter how much I hate to admit it. It's this yearning for his brotherly affection that causes me to try and hug him in my house. We've been gifted a moment of silence by the camera crew. 

He refuses my tender affections. It stings, but I'm glad. 

I've lost him forever just as he has lost me.

"We're too similar. I think we always were." Gale murmurs sadly under his breath. "It never would've worked out for us. Even if those damn merchants weren't apart of the equation."

 _Yes_ , I think to myself. _I've come to that realization myself._

It doesn't hit me until he's shuffled away with his hands in his pockets that he said "merchants". Plural.

~

We're back in time for dinner.

The crew and Plutarch seem excited about what content we had given them. 

_Good_ , I internalize sarcastically. _At least my pain and suffering are for a good cause._

I think my definition of good has morphed so many times that I can't be bothered to care. My supply of care and sentiment is reserved for a select few - it dreadfully becomes bigger and bigger by the day. 

"Prim," I tiredly greet when I catch her small blonde braid fall down her back. In her arms is Willow and across from her is Finnick. They seem to be getting on well enough.

"Katniss," she greets cheerfully and passes Willow to me. My lips find her head as they so often do. I find myself becoming grounded again. I missed her.

I missed all of them.

Willow lets out a small giggle at the connection. Finnick says hello as well, followed by a slew of other monotonous events that occurred throughout his day. I think he can sense that I don't want to talk about mine. Food finds my lips but it's tasteless. 

"How's work going?" I ask my sister once Finnick finishes his thought. This conversation distracts me from the food.

"I think they're going to train me to be a doctor," she says with a smile, but then, it falters. "We don't have to talk about me though. How was your day, Katniss?"

My day? _Awful._

I want to ask her to keep talking about her life - I feel like I am missing out on so much of it - but before the words can leave my lips, Boggs has tapped my shoulder.

"We need you in Command. Immediately."

There's a look in his eyes, something I would attribute to guilt and sadness. The annoyed sigh that escapes me is anything but subtle. The apology is very present in his warm dark eyes.

Prim gives the slightest shrug, showing that my leaving doesn't hurt her. She probably understands that this is only temporary and that we all have roles to play and how is it that she can grasp this but I can't?

I'm so tired.

"Katniss," Boggs urges. I stand up, keeping Willow firmly in my hold. I don't want to let her go.

"May I join?" Finnick directs at Boggs. 

"Yes, but we need to hurry." 

I press a kiss to Prim's forehead and keep a hold on Willow. Two times today I bring Willow along to a Command meeting. I wonder what Coin will think about that.

In the end, it doesn't matter because the moment I reach our destination, Peeta's face is plastered on a massive screen, and tears stream down his pale face. His cheekbones stick out and the collar on his top is clearly choking him. 

I bring my hand to my mouth, finding that a horrific squeak has left me. Willow's entire body begins to quiver once she sees the screen too. She buries her head into my cries and whimpers something. I can't quite hear it because I am entranced by Peeta's words.

"Oh, Peeta," I sigh, finding that my voice doesn't work. My sweet, selfless Peeta. I did this to him. I've ruined him. "It's going to be okay, my Flower."

I don't know if I'm talking to her or to myself. I can't fix this.

"What have they done to you?" I ask him as if he could hear me from the miles and miles between us. I would give anything to be in his place. 

Beetee murmurs something under his breath, flips a switch, and suddenly my footage from earlier in the day merges with the Capitol projection. I hear my voice singing _The Hanging Tree_ and my body turns to stone.

The fear and confusion on Peeta's face will never leave. "Katniss?" he asks. 

It occurs to me then that this is probably the first time he has seen me in months. There's fear but also relief behind his eyes. I wonder if he had doubted my survival after the arena exploded. 

_How much did they tell him? How in the dark was he?_

"Katniss, are you there?" he asks gently in the voice that used to soothe me to sleep. The one that used to protect me in the way that nobody else could.

" _Peeta._ " 

Willow peeks her head out from my chest at the sound of my voice uttering her father's name. His eyes flick behind the camera, presumably making eye contact with his torturer behind it. I can't save him. My heart races - I want to reach through the screen and pull him back to me.

He looks directly into the camera, piercing my soul. There's fear there, but he buries it within himself, takes a deep breath, and his eyes darken.

"And you, in Thirteen," he pauses, his heart catches as does mine, "dead by morning."

There's commotion. He yelps as his torturers pull him back and throw him to the floor. Blood hits the camera and then it's over.

Willow lets out a sharp cry as I do my best to cover her eyes. But it's too late. She's already seen it.

"He's in the mansion, he may have heard something," Coin announces to the room of people over the cries of Willow. Gale guiltily doesn't meet my eyes. 

"We have to get him it before they kill him," I cry while my baby whimpers in my arms. Over the sound of feet rushing around me, I hear her say, "Ma. Ma. Ma." 

I pull a whimpering Willow closer to me, unable to praise her for saying her first word. Finnick is at my side, saying things to try and comfort me, but it doesn't work. If I thought Peeta from a few weeks ago was haunting, this is unimaginable. It won't go away, even if I manage to get him back.

"Let's prepare for an air raid drill," Coin says as a soldier beside her says that they've tracked Capitol hovercrafts heading this way. Instantly, everyone disperses.

I clutch Willow and take Finnick's hand as he leads us down a long stairwell. There are pre-recorded orders being blasted from an intercom. Willow wails for me the entire time, but I can't stop moving to comfort her - even if I could I wouldn't know what to say.

There's rain now and I would have been trampled had Finnick not had a firm grasp on my wrist. I think I will always be in his debt. He doesn't get much from being my friend, and yet, he is. 

We've reached my mother and Prim, who has collected Buttercup in my father's hunting bag, as the bombs being to fall. Willow shrieks and, finally, I am able to rock her.

"Ma," she cries.

"Flower," I murmur against her head, "It will be okay." This catches Finnick's eye. Another bomb drops. "Everything will be okay."

**Then - District Twelve**

Weeks pass for us in District Twelve.

After Gale and I's tense moment in the woods, he foolishly found himself with a big haul and ended up on the whipping post. Which had him laying on my kitchen counter for a few days. I couldn't stomach being in that house with him there, so I stayed with Peeta. 

Eventually, Gale left my house; I didn't leave Peeta's. 

My mother didn't put up much of a fight about it. Our conversation still lingers in her head as it does in mine. 

Everything got put into perspective after those few days. The fence was now on 24/7 and a curfew was put in place. For now, and possibly forever, the woods were off-limits; something that I hadn't yet come to terms with.

With the revelation that leaving Twelve could not happen, Peeta and I find that the days bleed together. We spend the days making love or teaching each other how to do simple tasks that the other may not know. It's silly and boring, but we find that this little bit of peace is what we've been yearning for for months.

Besides the new Peacekeepers, Snow has been quiet on his threats. Though there's an impending doom in the air as if something is coming and we can both feel it, but neither of us can place a finger on it. There's an unspoken rule that we will just live life to the best of our abilities until that peace is disrupted.

Alas, I can feel something brewing deep beneath my skin.

On quiet Saturday mornings like today, I place my lips to the pulse point of Peeta's neck and whisper, "I wish we could go to the meadow." I hadn't had the chance to show him the meadow or the lake before the power was turned back on. We're trapped on this side of the fence for now. His fingers play with the hem of my sleep shirt (one that I stole from him weeks prior) and say softly, "Me too. We could go to the Seam. Pass out some bread and pastries to the kids or something? Do you like that idea?"

Good, selfless Peeta. Always thinking of others before himself.

While the snow is finally starting to melt, that doesn't mean it is not frigid most of the day. But the sleepy smile on his face and the wake his eye have lit up brings me to nod.

"Yes," I say as I brush a strand of his blonde curls away. "I think that would be a great idea."

We spend the morning making some basic loaves and pastries with sweet blackberries in the center. They're still warm when we've bundled up and started our journey. Hand in hand we walk through town, pass the school (which is closed for winter break), and enter the Seam.

Almost immediately, big grey eyes peer out broken windows and scurry to meet us, shaking hands stretched out to take what we have to offer. The plethora of feasts after our games helped save these children from starvation earlier in the year, but now that time has ended and another Victor will take the crown in a few short months.

"We should do this every Saturday," he says gently as he passes a loaf to a child with long dark hair. She gives a grateful nod before running back indoors. 

"I agree," I murmur under my breath and hand a blackberry tart to a little boy, no older than five. He scampers away without a thank you - I can't blame him though, it's freezing. 

Once nearly everyone has gotten their fill, I whisper, "Can we go by Hazelle's? I want to drop these last few loaves with her and the kids."

"Of course," Peeta smiles, pressing his palm to my lower back. I couldn't stomach going there tomorrow - not with the risk of Gale being there. I don't think I could face him after what he did to me. 

A little bit of guilt still resonates in the pit of my belly because I haven't told Peeta. I may in a few weeks or if he notices, but I don't want to make a big deal out of nothing. We've got enough to worry about and a rogue Gale shouldn't be one of them.

There's a gentle plume of smoke coming out of the chimney. Before we have the chance to knock, Rory meets us at the door. He's getting so big.

"Katniss! Peeta!" He says cheerily. "It's nice to see you."

I don't have to force a smile for Rory. "We have some bread for you guys and I wanted to check on your mother."

Upon entry, the house is warm and smells of a meaty roast. I can't help but wonder how that happened. Posy plays on the floor with a doll that I had gotten her a month or so ago. Her face beams when she sees Peeta; they've become friends during their few interactions.

"I'll just be a moment," I say gently as I follow Rory to Hazelle's room, leaving Peeta to his own devices.

When Hazelle sees me, her eyes light up.

"Peeta and I brought you some bread," I say somewhat shyly, realizing that it might be odd to bring Peeta over to her home, especially with Gale not here. If it is odd, Hazelle doesn't make it known as she sets the scarf she's knitting to the side.

"That's kind of you," she says as she stands. There's a bit of hesitance. Rory exits and the awkward weight seems to be swept away with him

"How's Gale?" I ask after a moment. Hazelle's eyes soften at the mention of her oldest son. 

"He's healing," she says, "Thanks to your mother, I think he will be fine."

"That's good," I quickly remark. 

"He told me about your conversation from that day." _I'm sure he left out the crucial detail about him pushing me against a tree and laying one on me,_ I think internally. I care about Hazelle, so I won't taint his image in her eyes. 

"I want to apologize for his behavior-" I cut her off with hands slightly raised.

"Oh, Hazelle, you really don't have to. It's fine-"

"No, it's not," she grunts in annoyance, "You have too much on your plate, and my son's feelings shouldn't be one of them. I think he's always cared for you, but after you were reaped, it all just came to fruition and everything changed. He's too stubborn to apologize," He's too _Seam_ , "so I think I should. On his behalf."

I feel guilty when she apologizes.

"I never meant to hurt him," I say honestly. "It was the last thing I wanted to do."

Hazelle nods her head in understanding, "Gale knows that. He's just so stubborn and upset with himself that it's making him blind. He's acting like a petulant child." A smile graces my face because it's true. The conversation about Gale seems to dissipate and the space feels warm.

From the other room, Peeta and Posy's muffled laughter can be heard. My smile doesn't fade away.

"You're practically beaming," Hazelle says. Her words pull me back to the room. She presses a hand to my cheek. 

"Don't ever let him go without a fight, girl. Hold onto him because he's a good one and he cares. You've always been too careful with your heart." There's a pregnant pause. "I don't need to tell you how awful this world is, but...don't be afraid to live your life. You've earned this happiness. Cling to it, love that boy, because you deserve it. Both of you. Don't be scared to love him because the world is cruel and you don't always know what tomorrow holds."

There's something unspoken within her words. I see the thing in her grey eyes that I so often see in my mother's. It's how immense the loss of a partner is. My lip quivers just the slightest, breaking my composure.

"Oh, none of that now!" she exclaims as she pulls me into a hug. 

"Sweet girl," she gives me a squeeze and it keeps me from bursting into tears, "Just take care of yourself, okay?"

I bury my head in her greying hair and whimper, "Thank you, Hazelle." We pull apart and she pinches my cheek in an endearing, motherly sort of way.

"You should get home," she says, "It's too cool for you to be out in this weather." 

As I exit the small bedroom, I find Posy and Peeta on the carpet, playing with her doll and giggling uncontrollably. My heart nearly sputtered out of my chest. Peeta doesn't sense I've entered the room until I quietly clear my throat.

His head of golden curls lifts up and the smile that has graced his face doesn't waver.

I can't help but this that he's so beautiful.

"You ready to go?" he asks politely, lifting himself off the floor. I nod slightly. 

Peeta knocks his fist with Posy's, like long time comrades, and says, "See you later, Posy." She giggles at him before we leave the house.

"You're good with her," I whisper as we walk hand in hand back to his house.

"She's decent company," he says nonchalantly with a shrug. "Not as good as you."

This earns a playful eye roll from me.

As Victor's Village comes into view, I change the subject to the one more heavy on my mind. "I think I want to watch the announcement with my family tonight. You're going to join us, right?"

"I have nowhere else to be," he says simply. It's true. He's hardly seen his own family out of the context of the bakery. They don't deserve him. "I like being with you and your family, but you already know that." 

I waver before walking towards his house. 

"How about I get my sketchbook and we can be at your house for the rest of the evening? Maybe make dinner? If it's okay with your mother." He's still so shy around me. So unnecessarily polite. There are some moments where it catches me off guard just how good he truly is, especially in the house he was raised in. 

His brothers keep to their merchant cliques. His mother is evil incarnate. His father has always been kind to me, but he's a coward; to my knowledge, he's never stood up for his boys.

I give my head a quick shake before saying, "You don't have to be so good all the time, you know?"

My words throw him.

"I don't try to," he remarks casually. The wind picks up the slightest bit and brings a shiver down my spine.

"Exactly," I laugh. I press the gentlest peck to his lips before saying, "Go get your book. I'll be in the living room. Cinna sent some dresses that he wants me to try on."

The rest of the day, I take Hazelle's words into consideration. Peeta and I lounge out on the couch while I flip through the booklet of dresses Cinna had sent me. There are about a dozen massive dress boxes shoved in my old room.

I spend the day working on the family plant book with Peeta. In between the plant drawings, Peeta works in his own sketchbook. I admire the ways his brows furrow together and his nose slightly scrunches up in concentration. His eyes flicker from me to his book every so often and a warmth flutters through me. He's drawing me.

"Can I see?" I ask. I've broken his concentration and he shies away from me, not ready to reveal his work.

"Not yet," he laughs, trying to playfully shoo me away with his hand. "You need to learn patience."

In my boredom and lack of patience, I get a hold of a camera that Effie had sent to Twelve for me. Not too many people have the luxury of cameras in Twelve. An occasional picture is taken by the schools or by government officials to get a census, but never out of the expense of having one. As a victor, I've found that I could demand almost anything material and have it delivered in a week's notice.

So I click away, letting the world slip from me and try to forget what is all at stake. Nearly everything I have to lose is on the other side of the lens. He and Prim. And I guess my mother now. And Hazelle and the kids.

My list has gotten too long.

Peeta insists that we take a few pictures together. Not for any other purpose but for our memory. I hate that I feel safe.

Later, Prim sits adjacent to us, reading and taking notes on a book that was required for winter break. My mother is in the kitchen, organizing some herbal creations and making a soup of sorts.

The fire flickers away. 

It's not until the night comes that the peace dims. The Quell card reading. 

I lean into the booming voice of our president dearest, curious about what atrocities Peeta and I will have to face this year. I try to catch every word, but my mind drifts to the future children we will have to mentor. 

I wish I had missed what came next.

"The tributes are to be reaped from the existing pool of victors."

We should've known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rip there was a lot of Gale in this chapter...  
> Lemme know what you think.........  
> PS did not revise/check any of this so there are prob a ton of mistakes but its FINE
> 
> PPS I HAVE AN IG CALLED @PEARLSANDSUNSETS WHERE I UPDATE YOU ON WHEN CHAPTERS WILL BE UPDATED AND OTHER IDEAS I MIGHT HAVE WITH THE STORY. I LOVE COLLABORATION AND IF YOU HAVE ANY IDEAS FOR THIS FIC, PLS DM ME ON THERE!! OK BYEE


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